


To Be So Lonely

by ChimFTW



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious David Jacobs, Artist Jack Kelly, Bisexual Jack Kelly, Dave and Race are gonna be best buddies, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Newsies, Jack being Jack, Jewish David Jacobs, Les Jacobs being cute, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins, Mom Friend David Jacobs, Parent David Jacobs, Theater Kid David Jacobs, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26429611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChimFTW/pseuds/ChimFTW
Summary: Dave is stressed. Balancing two jobs, University, and caring for his kid brother is hard enough as it is. But doing it alone? That's what makes it impossible.Jack is living his dream life in a place he doesn't want to be in. New York is nice, sure--but it's not Santa Fe. But he's got friends here, a nice place to stay and a couple of jobs that pay well. But it's still not enough to convince him that he is where he needs to be.But Dave's been coming into the cafe where Jack works lately, and there just might be something here to show them both that life is worth living right where they are.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 84
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

Dave rubs at his eyes, not stopping until he sees spots. At least he's seeing something more than the same old grease stains and food spots floating in the sink. 

It's been a short five hour shift, but he's still tired as all get out. The restaurant works him hard--The Modern Block is popular and almost always busy. But it's for good reason, and Dave knows that. The food is great and the prices are cheap enough to warrant praise. The service is always nice, too. But that's not Dave's usual job. Usually, Dave is behind the walls washing the dishes and cleaning the floors.

It's not any fun.

But it's almost the end of his shift and he's almost about to cry. He just wants to go to sleep and make sure his kid brother is doing alright. But he knows--God, does he know--that he has to do his homework and study for that stupid Critical Theory class he hates so much.

...Okay, that's a lie. Dave loves his Critical Theory class. He loves all of his classes, actually, but now he's just tired and grumpy and is in no mood to study for some test he knows he's gonna pass. Even if he knows he'll pass, it still eats away at him that there's this chance he could fail. And if he fails, then his scholarship is just that much closer to being ripped away.

"Hey, Jacobs?" A soft voice calls to him. It's Katherine, peeking her head through the open door to the kitchens. "The night's done. You can go home now."

Katherine Pulitzer is a nice girl with too much ambition, if that is even a thing. She says what she wants and doesn't really care too much about what the world has to say about her. Unless it's her father...but even then, it's complicated to say.

All in all, Dave likes Katherine. She's always been kind to him.

Dave throws his head back and groans softly. _Thank God._

They walk to their lockers together. Katherine talks about her journalism project she's been working on for the past couple weeks, and Dave is listening--really, he is. It's just that he's a little too tired to put his full brainpower into listening to her talk about something he doesn't really understand.

Katherine opens her locker. "It's just stupid, right? I mean, I have this amazing story to talk about, but I just can't put it into words. I'm almost worried that I won't be able to submit it in time."

"I'm sure you'll get it," Dave assures her. He shrugs on his hoodie over his work uniform, much to Katherine's dislike. "You always write the best articles."

Flushing lightly from the honest praise, Katherine turns her back on him and unbuttons her work vest. She's one of the hostess'. One of the best, really. With her bright smile and nice eyes, she always wins the coldest of customer's over. She puts her work vest into her locker and pulls on a nice cardigan. She spins back around to face Dave with a small smile.

"Thank you, David Jacobs," she says.

Dave smiles back, only slightly uncomfortable from the use of his full name. He doesn't mention it, though.

They walk out of the restaurant together without saying goodbye to the other workers. They don't talk much.

With the cool wind hitting his face, Dave sighs. He feels a lot better now, being outside. Fall is on it's way, and he's both excited and nervous about it. But the chilly night air is something he will always love about fall, no matter what comes with it. Being able to wrap himself up in his jacket and hide himself from the rest of the world is something he tries not to take for granted.

Katherine stops in front of her car, keys in hand. It's a nice car, expensive. Bought by her father who has too much money. Despite everything, Katherine always looks a little guilty when she and Dave get to her car. Probably because Dave doesn't have a car, never _has_ had a car and probably never will. He can barely afford the put some food on the table, nevertheless a car. 

"Do you want a ride?" Katherine asks, nearly hesitant. Like she already knows the answer. 

Dave shoves his hands into his pockets and shakes his head. "No, it's okay. My bus is supposed to come in five minutes."

"Okay, but my car is here now, so..."

Despite himself, Dave smiles and laughs at his friend. He says, "You don't live anywhere near me, Katherine. It's a waste of gas."

"It'll get you back to Les faster."

Low blow. Katherine knows how to get to him, to the real root of his feelings. It always comes back to Les. Always.

Dave and Katherine stare at each other for way to long, both of them too stubborn to give up. Finally, Dave closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"Fine," he says, walking to the passengers side. "But I'm giving you gas money."

Katherine smiles, bright and sunny the way she always does when she wins, and ducks into the drivers seat without saying another word.

~....~

Dave thinks it's weird, seeing such a fancy car like Katherine's sitting in front of his apartment complex.

The complex itself is rather large, with six stories worth of apartments filled with all sorts of people. It's a chunky looking building, very ugly compared to what Katherine lives in, and it's covered in stains that nobody knows what they are. Dirt, mud, blood--it could be anything. Dave tries not to think about it too much. There's a courtyard outside, where an old basketball hoop is set up. Les likes to run around it in the morning while he waits for the school bus. 

"Thank you, Katherine," says Dave, not taking his eyes off his home. "You didn't have to--"

Katherine puts a hand on his shoulder. "I don't mind driving you home, Dave. You know that."

"Yeah, but--"

"No but's. None. You're not allowed them. I like driving you home--it makes me know that you're safe. Okay?"

Dave finally turns to look at her, and is surprised by just how much sincerity is in her eyes. And it's not fair, really. Nobody is supposed to be _that_ good at sincerity and guilting their friends into accepting help. But Dave can't be mad, not really. Because, if it came down to it, he would do the same thing.

Dave nods. "Okay."

"Tell Les I said hi," says Katherine. 

Dave gets out of the car after promising her that he would. Only once he closes the door, does he remember that he still has to pay her gas money. He turns towards her car, already digging around in his pockets for some money. Muttering under his breath and doing mental math on how much he owes Katherine, he barely realizes that Katherine has locked the car doors and is taking the car out of park.

"Hey, Katherine? How much--"

But Katherine is already driving away, waving at him through the open window. He can hear her laughter as she leaves. On any other night, it would be a nice thing to hear, her happy little giggles as they fly through the air, but now Dave has half a mind to curse her.

Now alone, Dave heads inside.

~....~

The digital clock on the stove reads _12:24._

Dave closes the front door softly behind him, making sure to keep quiet. By now, it's way past Les' bedtime and Dave doesn't want to chance waking him up. He needs a good nights sleep if he wants to stay alert in school. Dave's been privy to too many instances where Les didn't get any sleep, and he comes back from school like a walking zombie, not having retained a single piece of information. 

But that's fine, Dave convinces himself every time. Things like that are bound to happen. It's fine. 

Dave goes through the motions of coming home. 

The apartment is cramped and old. Cheap, too. The main room is a mix of their kitchen, dinning room, and living room, all squeezed into one. Nothing is separated by walls here. The couch is falling apart and dirtied, sitting alone in front of a small bookshelf that holds all of their school books. Their dinning table is short and round with only two chairs, which wobble when sat on. And the kitchen is sad to look at, which a nearly broken stove, a fridge, and only one counter top. 

Luckily, this apartment comes with a sectioned off bathroom and bedroom. Both of them, unsurprisingly, are small and cheap. 

Dave sighs and goes to pick up a textbook from the bookshelf. He picks up his backpack from the floor near the couch and brings it all over to the table. Sitting in the chair, Dave shoves his foot beneath the shortest leg and keeps himself from falling over. He flips open his textbook and begins what he knows will be a long night of studying.

It doesn't take long for the bedroom door to open with a squeak. Footsteps shuffle across the floor, soft and with direction.

Dave turns around in his chair to see Les, tired-eyed and pouting. He's in his pajamas, the red ones with the blue stripes, and has his pillow clutched to his chest. For an almost 10 year old kid, he has a talent for looking younger.

"Dave?" Les asks. "You said you'd sleep tonight."

It pains Dave to see his brother like this--wanting for normal things. Like a sleep schedule or a healthy brother.

"I've got a test tomorrow," Dave explains softly. "It's important that I pass, Les. You know that."

Les presses his lips together and furrows his eyebrows. "Sleep is important. You know that."

"Hey, that's not fair." 

Les beams, knowing that he got a little under his brothers skin. It's his goal in life, to annoy Dave. 

Dave has to chuckle at his brother. He reaches out and ruffles Les' hair, hoping to sooth the boy. He knows how much Les hates being alone in their home. It's not a safe spot, and they both know it. The amount of robberies in the complex is concerning, but they can't afford to go anywhere else. 

"Listen," Dave says. "Why don't you go back to bed, and I'll finish reviewing this one lesson. If you're still up, I can read you a story. Deal?"

Les pretends to mull it over, adding dramatics to his expression. Dave smiles and ducks his head before looking back up. 

Les smiles, showing his teeth. "Deal!"

They shake on it. Les runs back to his bedroom, still clutching his pillow tightly, but now he's excited. He loves it when Dave reads to him, and it always puts him right to sleep.

Dave watches him run and rakes his fingers through his hair. Looking back at his textbook, he lets out a long sigh. He's only got a couple pages left on this lesson, but he has four more lessons to review for tomorrow's test. But he can't just let Les down tonight. 

It only takes a few minutes to finish the lesson, and Dave feels like he's got it all memorized. And he _knows_ that he's got this. The material was easy enough and Dave has been studying it for at least a week now, but he's scared he might forget something. What if he gets to the test tomorrow and realizes he has been studying the wrong stuff? What if he blanks and can't answer a single question?

Dave shakes his head and closes his textbook. He shouldn't be thinking like that. It's not helpful.

Forcing himself to just calm down and let it go, Dave goes to their bedroom. He stops by the bookshelf on his way and picks up Les' favourite book. Then, he peeks his head through the bedroom door to see Les sitting upright on his bed, ready to be read a story.

Their bedroom is small, too. They have two mattresses that have been placed side-by-side against the back wall. Les sits on the mattress to the right, swaddled in his blanket.

Dave sits down on his mattress, legs crossed underneath him.

"You ready?" He asks, and Les nods excitedly. "Alright, then lie down. I don't want you falling asleep sitting up and getting a sore neck."

Les does as told, shimmying down onto his mattress and pulling his blanket up to his chin. He looks at Dave with big eyes, ready for the story.

Dave opens the book and begins to read. While he reads, he hopes that tomorrow might be a little different. A little better. Just as he hopes every night, that tomorrow will bring them some kind of good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Welcome to my first ever Dave/Jack fanfic. Also my first ever chaptered fic on ao3, I'm pretty sure. But I hope this is good and I hope you guys will like it. 
> 
> I'll try to make my uploading schedule be on Saturdays now that school has started. So, hopefully I will see you ll on Saturday :)
> 
> (also, Jack is coming next chapter, don't you wory)


	2. Chapter 2

Dave likes school. He likes sitting behind a table with his laptop open and a textbook at his side. Being surrounded by people who are there to learn the same things he is, makes it feel better than if he were doing this alone. With the teacher down at the front of the room, standing in front of his power point, it fills Dave with both dread and happiness.

University was something Dave has always wanted. To learn more, to continue an education. And English is interesting, really, it is. Dave loves it. Loves writing and creating and reading. Business…not so much. But his minor is useful, can get him farther if his major doesn’t do enough for him. But this still isn’t what he wants.

Dave learned a long time ago that getting what he wants is just some pipe dream.

Next to him, Katherine stares at her laptop screen, unmoving. She’s not even paying attention to the lecture—which is fine. This class isn’t one of her big, necessary ones. And, even if it were, Katherine was always able to pull everything together and get a good grade.

For a while now, Katherine has been working on an article. It’s her big article for her major—Journalism—and it’s been stressing her out for weeks now. From thinking of the topic and the questions down to how she was going to get the interview.

Coming from a big, important family—she’s a Pulitzer, for Christ sake—she could easily just flash her name and get immediate access anywhere. But Katherine doesn’t work like that. Every interview she conducts, she calls herself Katherine Plumber. She’s been careful to avoid getting her face in too many public family photos, but they still float around the internet, ready to destroy her nom-de-plume.

Dave leans over. “Katherine, did you get any sleep?”

Katherine hums, but doesn’t take her eyes off her laptop screen. A near empty Word document stares back at her.

“Katherine,” Dave whispers, eyes flitting to the professor every few seconds. He can’t afford to get in trouble right now. “Seriously Katherine—did you sleep at all?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she whispers back, blinking out of her trance. She nearly closes her laptop and looks over at Dave, searching for the dark bags under his eyes that have become his usual couture.

Straightening his posture, Dave sends her a big grin. “I slept for six hours last night.”

Katherine gasps quietly, eyes lighting up with excitement. She leans close to whisper, “Six? Dave, that’s the most sleep you’ve ever gotten.”

Dave nods excitedly. Sure, it was Les who forced him to go to bed, but it was still Dave who closed his eyes. And yeah, getting six hours of sleep was kind of nice, refreshing in a way, but he’s still nervous about his test scores. He took it this morning, and he stressed the whole way through even as the answers came to him easily. Because what if he’s just playing himself and answering everything wrong? What if this is all one big joke for him to fail and get kicked out of school?

He shakes his head and forces himself to focus back on the lecture. The test is over, he reminds himself. There’s nothing I can do about it now. 

When the Lecture ends, Dave practically sprints out of the class. Les ends school in about twelve minutes, and the elementary school is fifteen minutes away. As much as Les is good at being independent and is fully capable of himself (it’s surprising for an almost ten-year-old) he always gets nervous when Dave is late to pick him up.

Dave doesn’t blame him.

So, Dave is running down the street, backpack slapping against his back harshly, the edges of his textbooks digging into his skin eagerly. His feet already hurt—his shoes weren’t made for running. His face is flushed and he’s gasping for breath every time he meets a crosswalk with a big red hand taunting him.

So caught up in his running, Dave nearly rams right into someone.

“Fuckin’ watch it, will ya?” A voice calls after Dave—and it’s almost familiar but he doesn’t really care. Dave’s heard a lot of voices over the years.

“Sorry!” Dave calls back, and he almost means it. He doesn’t like being openly rude to people he doesn’t know, but he’s got more important things to worry about. Like how he has four minutes left in a six-minute run.

He can see the elementary school now, looming and large and not well looked after. And Dave knows he had nothing to do with where Les went to school, that was picked for him a long time ago, but Dave still feels like he could be tried harder to get Les into a better school. The kid is smart and good at whatever he wants to be good at, and he deserves to go to a good school.

The kids haven’t got out yet by the time Dave gets to the front doors. He’s breathing heavily, face flushed pink, hands on his knees as he leans against a wall. Dave takes a moment to center his breathing and wipe the sweat off his forehead. He pulls at his shirt, hoping to look a little respectable in front of all the other parents—not that Dave counts himself as a parent! But he’s more than a brother and less than a parent, so he doesn’t really know where he falls.

One of the mom’s eyes him, as she always does. Dave is pretty sure that’s Amy Brands mom. And the Brands family are a bunch of high class snobs who look down on anything and everything that isn’t them. Dave’s had enough problems with Mrs. Brands to know that meeting her eyes is a bad idea.

He does it anyway. It may be a bad idea, sure, but Mrs. Brand with her pixie cut and cardigan isn’t going to scare Dave.

Mrs. Brand narrows her eyes, lips down turned. It’s as if she smelt rotten fish. It makes Dave shift on his feet, but he won’t let some girls mother knock him down. All he wants to do is pick up his brother from school—why should he be judged for that?

“Dave!” Les calls, running out of the front doors with a massive smile.

Dave turns to see his brother, arms spread. Les runs right into Dave’s legs and gives him a big hug. He never used to be this touchy, but Dave isn’t going to question it. Dave, too, never used to like hugs the way he does now.

“How was school?” asks Dave, mindlessly adjusting Les’s backpack.

Les shrugs and waves goodbye to his friends as they start to walk home. “It was fine. Nothing fun happened. Oh!” He twists his body and digs through his backpack. He pulls out a wrapped sandwich. “Ms. Kinley gave me this!”

Something tugs in Dave’s stomach. Ms. Kinley is a very nice lady. Every time Dave has to come in for parent-teacher interviews, she always welcomes him as if it’s normal for a twenty-one-year-old to come in and ask about their nine-year old’s grades. And for some time now, Ms. Kinley has been packing extra food in her lunches to give to Les every week.

Dave knows why. It’s no secret they are living paycheck to paycheck. The woman just wants to make sure Les can eat each week. And it’s a nice gesture, but it makes Dave feel like a bad brother. How can a brother not be able to feed his younger brother properly?

Shaking those thoughts away, Dave smiles down at Les and the nicely wrapped sandwich. “That’s very nice of her.”

They walk for long enough that Les starts to complain, loudly and dramatically. It draws the eyes of strangers, and Dave tries not to think about it. Les is allowed to be as loud as he wants.

“Can we get muffins?” Les asks all of a sudden, coming to a complete stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

Dave startles, then sighs and pulls his brother to the side so as to not anger pedestrians. “You have a sandwich, Les. Isn’t that enough food?”

Les shakes his head and points a couple shops down to a small café. It blends into the grouping of buildings around it, and you can just barely see the front of NYU. “But I want a muffin. Sandwiches aren’t muffins, Dave.”

Dave taps Les on the cheek softly. He checks his phone for the time—1:30. He doesn’t work until 8 tonight, so he’s got a lot of time to spare. But Dave also needs to study, and he’s sure that Les has some work in that backpack of his.

“Fine,” Dave decides, and Les cheers. “But we’ll only stay for a little bit, okay?”

Les doesn’t hear him, he’s already running towards the café and throwing the door open.

Cursing, Dave jogs after the kid, praying that Les isn’t going to disturb the poor café workers. Les has a habit of disturbing any workers he comes across. He’s a curious boy with a fast brain and a faster mouth, of course he’s going to talk to every stranger he meets.

A bells rings over his head when Dave enters the café. Immediately, he is hit by the smell of freshly baked goods and grinded coffee beans. Soft music plays over the speakers—some kind of Broadway mix that Dave would recognize more if he was thinking about it. Everything about the café is nice and serene looking and, suddenly, Dave relaxes for the first time that day.

The tones of the café are dark woods and grey walls, with low hanging lights and lots of exposed wood. The small booths and low tables keep the groups small, so the place doesn’t feel crowded. And, really, it isn’t crowded. There are only four other people inside, sipping coffee and talking quietly.

Les is leaning all of his weight against the counter, where a cashier has his arms crossed over his chest and a small smile on his face.

“A muffin, you say?” The cashier drawls, and—wow, doesn’t he sound nice? “I dunno if we have any left, kid.”

Les furrows his brow and looks over at the glass pastry holder, pointing to the very obviously there muffins. “I’m not stupid. I see them, right there.”

The cashier laughs with a hand on his belly, overjoyed with this mouthy little kid.

Dave walks towards Les quickly with a few long strides and places his hand on the kid’s shoulder. Les looks up at him with a very dramatic pout.

“This cashier’s a jerk,” he states plainly, forcing a surprised laugh out of Dave. “All I want is a muffin.”

Looking over at the cashier, ready to apologize for his kid brother’s big mouth, Dave finds himself caught. The cashier is already looking at Dave and it’s a little too intense for Dave’s liking, but the cashier has beautiful eyes and a very, very nice jawline. He looks down at the cashier’s name tag—Jack.

“Sorry about my brother,” Dave says amicably. “But can we get a muffin, please?”

Jack blinks and shakes his head, eyes flickering from Dave’s face to Les’s, then back to Dave’s. He smiles, and it’s a lot more charming than Dave was expecting.

“Comin’ right up,” Jack says, sliding over to the muffins. “Which one?”

“Blueberry!” Les says excitedly, tapping his finger against the glass. “Those are the best ones.”

Dave nods because yeah, those are the best ones.

Jack comes back and slides the muffin over the counter. Les, with his little gremlin hands, snatches it up immediately without so much as a thank you.

“Manners, Les,” Dave reminds him quickly. He digs around in his backpack for some change, hoping to God that he has enough money to pay for this muffin.

Les, through a mouthful of muffin, says, “Thanks!”

Dave rolls his eyes with a smile and counts the change in his hand, eyes flicking up to the price board.

“And for you?” Jack asks, leaning against the counter casually, flashing another bright, charming smile. “Coffee?”

On the inside, Dave melts. That smile is doing exactly what it’s supposed to be doing, and Dave is a weak fool who hasn’t had a guy look at him like that in…well, ever. But that’s not important. What’s important is that Dave really wants a coffee but doesn’t have the funds for it.

With a sniff, Dave recounts his money then slides it across the counter for Jack to take. “No, thanks. Just the muffin.”

~….~

  
Dave and Les sit in the café for much longer than Dave was expecting. But it’s not his fault, he just got so caught up in his homework that he forgot where he was.

Les lays flat across the booth seat, full off his muffin and his sandwich, homework splayed out on the table but not touched. His eyes are adrift, searching for something to do.

The other customers have left by now, leaving Les and Dave alone. Save for Jack over at the counter, of course.

Above them, the roof rumbles with activity. Dave looks up, curious. It sounds like a stampede of elephants has just been set free. He brushes it off as nothing, but Les has perked up. Something is happening.

Near the back of the café is a set of old, metal spiral stairs. They begin to shake as three boys come rushing down them, fighting with each other, and bringing with them a whole bunch of noise.

“Hey, get offa me!” One of them yells, pushing away his friend, who clings to his shoulders. “Outta my way, jackass!”

The clinging boy laughs merrily and continues to hold on to his friend.

The third boy, who is a lot more quiet but no less vibrant, jumps after them excitedly.

Dave and Les look over at the commotion, each with pinched looks. With their homework pushed far away from their minds, the Jacobs brothers watch with near fascination as three boys tumble around the café.

From the counter, Jack yells at them with a loud laugh. “Hey, hey! Shuddup! We got customers doing their work here.”

Dave swallows and shakes his head at the trio of boys, who are now staring down at Dave and Les. “Uh…No, it’s alright. We should probably—” his phone rings.

It’s work. Quickly, Dave shoots up from his chair and answers the call. He exits the café and stands close to the windows, just to keep an eye on Les.

Meanwhile, Jack rounds the counter to affectionately smack the back of the three boy’s heads.

“Look at what ya did,” he says, pointing out towards the door. “Ya ran a cute boy outta the shop. If he never comes back, it’s all your fault.”

One of the boys leans forward, bent at the waist. His dirty blond hair falls in front of his eyes, and he pushes it back. Les thinks it’s time for a haircut, but he doesn’t say that. He thinks of Dave calling him out for talking a certain way and keeps his mouth shut.

With a squint, the boy says , “that guy ran inta me today. Lock ‘im outside!”

Before anything could happen, Les jumps out of the booth and puts himself between the trip of boys and the front door. He spreads his arms out wide , as if he could touch each wall and create a barrier.

“Leave Dave alone!” says Les with a puff of his chest.

The boys are startled into silence for only a moment before they are yelling at each other. Nobody knows what they’re saying, and Les cant even begin to pick our any words before Jack is pushing his friends away from the door with a forced upon scowl.

“Race, go get angry somewhere else, will ya?” He says. “Leave the kid alone.”

Race sticks his tongue out and gives Jack the finger, which Jack happily throws back. Going back up the stairs, Race and the other two boys keep their eyes on the front door, where Davey places back and forth slowly with a slight frown.

Jack turns to Les and grins at the kid. He lightly punches Les in shoulder."What’s your name, kid?”

Les punches him back with more force. “My name’s Les. And that’s my brother David outside.”

Punching Les again, Jack tilts his head towards the muffins stashed away by the counter. “You want another one?”

Les lights up immediately, then deflates just as fast. “I don’t got any more money,” he says a little sadly, but he tries not to be too bummed out by his light pockets. He’s not stupid. He knows how hard Dave works just so that Les can have the small things in life.

Shrugging, Jack rounds the counter and takes out another blueberry muffin. He hesitates, then picks up another one. He shoves both muffins into a brown paper bag and hands them over to Les, who watches Jack with a growing smile.

“On the house,” Jack says. “Hey, you know what kind of coffee your brother likes?”

Les shrugs and screws up his face in concentration. “Something sweet. He always says, ‘ _if this coffee doesn’t keep me awake for the next twelve hours, I don’t want it_.’ Does that help?"

Laughing, Jack tries to think of all the coffee they have in the café. He’s surprised at how blunt and honest this kid is, but right now he’s loving it. He has a feeling this is the easiest way to learn something about his new customer.

While Jack sets out to start making the most caffeinated drink he can imagine, Les goes back to his booth and waits for Dave to come back.

It only takes a few minutes, but by the time Dave comes back into the café, Jack and Les are in deep conversation about dinosaurs. With a cup of coffee and a brown paper bag in hand, Les rambles on excitedly about how cool he thinks Pterodactyls are and how overrated T-Rex's are.

“I know, right?” Jack moans dramatically. “Just ‘cause they got them small arms don’t mean they run the jungle.”

Dave steps up to the table, a slight smile on his face as he watches Les for any signs of discomfort. When he finds none, he says, “Dinosaurs didn’t live in jungles. At least, not jungles as we know them.” He looks to Les. “Come on, we should get going. Work called me in early and I want to get you back home before it’s dark.”

Dutifully, Les jumps out of the booth and hands Dave the paper bag and cup of coffee. “Okay. Bye, Jack. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jack smiles and shakes Les's outstretched hand. They shake on it.

Dave sputters. “Hang on—no. We don’t have time tomorrow Les. I got thirty minutes to get you home then me to work.” He turns to Jack and tries to hand back the paper bag and the coffee. “I know for a fact Les didn’t pay for these.”

Jack shakes his head and pushes the food and drink back towards Dave. “Ain’t no sweat, Davey. It’s on the house.”

“No, I cant—”

“Get outta my café,” Jack urges, waving the two boys off.

Les grabs on to Dave's wrist and does his best to drag his brother towards the front door. Without really thinking about it, Dave drags his feet along and let’s himself be pulled away from the cute cashier and his cozy little café.

“I'll see you next tomorrow, Jack!” Les calls out, waving at his new found friend.

Waving back, Jack laughs. “See ya later, kid!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! Welcome back to whatever this is :)  
>  I've decided that I don't like the idea of a schedule, especially because I know I'll never adhere to it. SO, that means updates whenever I have finished a chapter, so they will probably be very close together unless I have to work on school for days on end lol
> 
> Anyway, we got Jack! Yay! I hope you guys liked this chapter, and I'll see you in the next one!


	3. Chapter 3

Medda's café is always full of life, but not always full of customers. But that’s not a concern for Medda Larkin—she makes more than enough money from her theater and the shows she puts on. The lively vibe of the café comes from its employees.

“Jackie boy!” Race shouts from his room. “Where's my socks?”

The boys live upstairs from the café, shoved in a house all together. Its cozy and cramped, but there is still enough space for them to feel comfortable.

Jack pokes his head out of his room, squinting down the hall. “What?”

Race comes out of his room, sock less and shivering. “My socks. Where'd ya put ‘em?”

“I didn’t touch your socks.”

“Somebody touched my socks. You’s the only one who does laundry.”

“Yeah, but Crutchie folds ‘em,” Jack says, pushing Race in the direction of the room he shares with Crutchie. “Blame him.”

Between Jack and the four other boys on the floor, a quiet moment is rare. Its why Jack goes down to the café early, too early because the café opens in an hour, and settles into a booth. He slaps his sketchbook down on the table and starts to draw. At first, it starts out as a stray eye—the strokes jumpy and rusty from having just woken up. Then, his page quickly fills up with dozens of eye sketches, all shaped as one vaguely familiar eye that Jack can’t name. It’s not Race's and it certainly isn’t Crutchie's or Albert's.

With a sigh, Jack closes his sketchpad and tucks his pencil behind his ear. He slides out of the booth and turns to find Crutchie stumbling down the stairs efficiently.

“Mornin’, Crutchie,” Jack says.

“Hey-a, Jack.” Crutchie goes behind the counter and opens the back of the pastry holder. “Sleep well?”

Specs pushes through the kitchen doors with a tray full of pastries. The air becomes sweet with the smell of freshly baked goodies, and Jack and Crutchie lean into it. There is nothing better than the smell of Medda Larkin’s baking, and that’s a hill Jack will die on.

The trio putter around the café, getting it ready for opening. Even if they know they won’t get much business until later in the day, it still feels as though, as soon as they unlock the front door, a flood of customers will come rushing in.

Instead, when Jack goes to unlock the door, nothing happens. Jack, Crutchie, and Specs are set to just hang out until something happens. Which is normally how the days go, and Jack loves it. He makes himself a nice cup of coffee and takes out his sketchbook again, ready to draw some more and flex his fingers.

Thumbing past the page full of eyes he drew a couple minutes ago, Jack purses his lips, trying to figure out who they belong to.

Crutchie leans over Jack’s shoulder and peeks at the drawings. “Oh, who’s are those? Some new fancy?”

Jack looks at Crutchie, then looks back at the sketchbook. “Nah, don’t got one. Dunno who these eyes belong to, but they ain’t half bad.”

“Nothin’ you draw is ever bad, Jackie.”

Patting Crutchie on the shoulder, Jack tries to not to flush from the unabashed, eternally truthful praise that Crutchie loves to spew.

“Ah, shuddup Crutchie,” Jack murmurs.

Just then, Race and Albert come running down the stairs. Jack looks at the clock on the wall—it’s 8:20.

“You’s gonna be late,” Jack says sternly, crossing his arms.

“Not if we’s run real fast.” Grinning from ear to ear, Race tugs Albert past the counter and out the door. Immediately, they take off into a sprint towards NYU.

Jack shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and focuses back on his sketchbook.

~….~

During rush hour, Jack likes to forget he is anything more than a barista. Sure, there are a lot of things he _could_ be, and there are a lot of things he _is_ , but being a barista is simplistic in a way Jack doesn’t feel too much.

Anyone could be a barista. At first, that used to bug Jack. All he’s ever wanted was to be something big and exciting and different. But then he settled into his routine and found that this right here? That’s the good stuff. He can save his big, exciting, different life for when his shift is over.

After his shifts, Jack either heads upstairs to deal with the kids, or he jumps right on over to Medda’s theater and paints her a new background for her shows. Either is good for him, just he gets paid for one and not the other.

Even Crutchie doesn’t seem to be thinking too much when rush hour comes. That poor kid’s got enough troubling him in life, he doesn’t need his brain to be another antagonist. And, hey—Specs isn’t nose-deep in some boring old textbook. It’s a miracle!

Being a barista doesn’t require the boys to be some astute, high class citizen with all the brains in world. No, all they have to do is make some coffee and layer on the charm for the customers. Easy. Simple.

Jack got the easy deal in life, ever since he took control of it. He doesn’t go to school, and instead paints and sells coffee for a living. Which is perfect. He’s never liked the idea of school and doing well in high school was never his thing. The classes were too long, and the teachers yelled too much. Only art class ever got his attention, but his skill quickly grew, and his art teacher never grew with him. It all fell apart in his last year of high school, where he realized two things: One, that he didn’t have the grades to get into any kind of worth while college or university; and, two, that he could really care less about school.

Taking up art was easy. Finding Medda Larkin was easy, and he fell into a nice schedule of eight-hour café shifts and the rest of his free time being spent either painting or hanging out with his friends.

How could it get any better?

“Jesus,” Crutchie sighs as he leans his back against the counter, crutch beside him.

“Bad leg?” Jack asks.

Shaking his head, Crutchie says, “Nah, jus’ tired.”

Jack nods in understanding. Even after a good night’s rest, he’s normally tired for the rest of the day. It’s annoying, but he’s gotten used to it.

The doorbell rings, and someone small comes running in, yelling, “Hiya Jack!”

Leaning over the counter, Jack grins as he sees Les beaming up at him. He’s panting heavily, as if he’s just run from the cops.

“Hey, kid,” Jack greets. His smile falls when he realizes that Les is alone. “Where’s your brother? I thought he said—”

Just then, the doorbell rings again and Dave comes rushing into the café, wide-eyed and flustered. Panting. His face is stern when he spots Les, but Jack is too far gone to notice anything other than— _Dave’s shirt is very unbuttoned, and his hair is really nice today and—_ oh. Jack’s got a dozen sketches of those eyes in his sketchbook.

“Les!” Dave says, exasperated. “You can’t just run away from me like that. I told you yesterday we don’t have time to come here.” He looks up at Jack and offers a small, half smile, and it’s more than enough to make Jack’s insides melt just a little. “Hi, Jack.”

He waves. “Hey, Davey.”

Taking one of Les’s hands in his own, Dave starts to make his way towards the front door. “I’ve got less than fifteen minutes to get you home then me to work—I don’t want you walking home alone.”

Les holds out his hand and grips onto the door frame, forcing his brother to stop. “Can we come back tomorrow? Please?”

Sighing, Dave nods. “Fine, we can come back tomorrow. But I don’t have much time tomorrow, either, okay?”

Les beams and nods happily. “Bye, Jack! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Jack laughs as he waves at the kid. “See ya, kid! Bye, Davey!”

Dreamily, Jack watches Dave and Les through the windows, waiting for them to leave. But, as soon as the pair start to walk away, a nice-looking car pulls up to the sidewalk. It’s illegal, but none of the café workers mention it. The car’s window rolls down, and Jack can’t see who it is, but he starts to worry that it’s some stranger trying to pick up Dave and his kid brother. Dave is shaking his head and waving his arms around, but Les throws open the front door and dives right in. Dave’s shoulder’s drop and he shakes his head, climbing into the backseat of the expensive car.

Seconds after the car pulls away, Race and Albert enter the shop, both with twin looks of surprise.

“Was those the guys from yesterday?” Albert asks, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

Jack nods. “Yeah. Les an’ Davey.”

Race hits Albert’s stomach with the back of his hand. “I told ya! Didn’t know sugar ma’s were still a thing.”

Jack nearly chokes on his spit. Crutchie has to slap him on the back, rather violently and harsher than needed. “ _What?”_ He gasps.

“That was Katherine Pulitzer’s car,” Race informs, shoving his hands into his pocket. “Richest lady in school.”

Albert nods. “Yeah. She got ‘nough money to buy a hundred of those cars. Don’t blame the guy for takin’ her money.”

Crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring the pounding of his heart, Jack says, “Ah, you’s all just bein’ rude. If Davey had a sugar ma, he’d’ve been able to afford a cup o’ coffee yesterday.”

It’s a little sad, the fact that a grown man couldn’t afford more than a muffin, but it’s not like Jack is one to judge. Sure, he’s comfortable in his finances, but he’s still low enough to be picky with what he buys.

Race and Albert raise their hands at the same time with matching grins. Sometimes, they scare Jack half to death with their synchronization. Real brothers from another mother. Most times, Jack is just glad they found each other.

“Don’t mind us,” Race says. “We ain’t meaning to make fun of the guy you’s sweet on.”

Crutchie gasps and hits Jack’s arm, grin splitting his face. “You’s sweet on ‘im? Ain’t those the eyes you got sketched in your book?”

“I ain’t sweet on anyone,” Jack says, swatting the hands and the attention away. He curls over his sketchbook protectively, refusing to verbally admit that yes, he’s drawn a bunch of eyes off a guy he’s only met twice. “Davey’s cute, is all. And his brother’s a real treat. I’m livin’ in the moment, let it go.”

The three boys back off, but not without exchanging giddy looks. Though, Race’s face is a little more twisted than the others, as if he’s trying to figure out a math question.

They all go back to their duties, with Jack clutching his sketchbook just a little closer to his chest for the rest of the day.

~….~

By late night, all the boys plus some buddies have piled into Medda’s theater. Not to do anything in particular, it’s just nice to see something other than the café and their home.

Race dances mindlessly on the stage with Elmer and Specs, practicing their moves and bettering them for later. Mostly, Race dances to whatever routine he has to learn for school while Elmer and Specs follow along for fun.

Sprawled against a couple of prop crates, Jack tries his best to capture Race as he dances. He also tries not to think about Davey, but it’s not really working.

Jack doesn’t believe in mushy romance tropes, but God damn if he doesn’t believe in love at first sight right now. Or at least let-me-take-you-on-a-date at first sight, because Jack would give a whole lot to be able to stare at Davey’s face for an hour or two.

He’s also trying not to think about how rushed Davey was today, and how stressed he seemed. It doesn’t take a genius to know is tense and pushed for time every day of his life—which seems to be the exact opposite of Les.

Jack laughs to himself as he finally gets the curve of Race’s outstretched arm. Les is a cute kid, and their discussion about dinosaurs last night proved that he’s got a lot of thoughts going on in that head of his. And Jack had a real good time talking to Les and giving him free muffins and coffee for his brother.

Tomorrow, Jack will see them both again. Les said so, and he has a feeling that whatever Les wants, he gets.


	4. Chapter 4

“I don’t wanna,” Les huffs from beneath his blanket hut.

Dave closes his eyes and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s a move his dad used to pull whenever Dave would pretend to be sick in order to skip a test. Now, as he realizes exactly how he looks, he hopes it’ll give him some super-dad powers in order to deal with this.

“Les,” says Dave. “Please get out of bed. You’re going to be late to school.”

Les shuffles around beneath his blankets. “No.”

“Why not?”

Under his blankets, Les shrugs and burrows deeper. “Dunno.”

Dave pauses and looks over at the lump that is his brother. It’s not usually like this—the mornings, he means. Normally, things go smoothly. Dave wakes up long before Les ever has to and gets breakfast ready for them both. Most times, he tries to wait for Les to join him before eating, but he’s often in a rush and doesn’t want to wait and chance missing breakfast. After they eat, it’s a quick trip to both schools, where Dave tries his best to walk Les to school before his classes start, but it doesn’t always work out that way. Which is fine, Dave tries to convince himself, but there’s something about watching your kid brother book himself to school, alone, that really tugs on Dave’s heart.

Stepping into the room, Dave ventures by saying, “Are you feeling alright, Les?”

For a moment, the room is silent. The blanket hut doesn’t move. Then, Les’s head pops out and he’s got his puppy dog eyes on full display. His bottom lip quivers.

“I don’t wanna go,” Les mutters, and he looks oh-so pitiful on his bed.

Dave caves. How can he not? He goes to sit next to his brother and puts a hand on his back, rubbing slowly. He’s not so good at comforting Les when he’s down, but he remembers what their mom used to do for them on their bad days and tries to channel that.

“Listen,” he starts softly, ducking his head to try and catch Les’s eyes. “How about…do you still want to see Jack today?”

Les nods and his eyes get a little bit wider.

“Okay, well, how about we go see Jack right now? You can miss the first little bit of school and, if you feel better after seeing Jack, you can go to school.”

Les sits up, blankets pooling at his waist. He rubs angrily at his nose. “And if I don’t?”

“I’ll walk you home.”

“Okay.”

Dave sets about getting Les ready for his potential school day. He lets Les stay in their bedroom and get changed while he goes around their home and gathers up all their school supplies and puts their breakfast away. He goes to check out their money bowl and picks up a couple 5-dollar bills. Just yesterday, once his night was finally over and he was yawning every two seconds, Dave went to the closest ATM and took out twenty dollars for the weekend. He gets paid tomorrow—Friday—but he knows how much is going to be shoved away for bills and groceries.

Leaving his debit card next to the bowl, Dave takes Les’s hand and they set off for the café.

~….~

Dave opens the door for Les and smiles as his brother shuffles in enthusiastically. He’s been oddly quiet since they left this morning, and Dave is just hoping that Jack could brighten the boy up a little bit.

Speaking of Jack—the barista lifts his head up from his sketchbook as the doorbell chimes. His face breaks out into a smile and his eyes widen. Scurrying to hide his sketchbook beneath the counter, Jack waves at the newcomers.

“Mornin’ boys,” he greets, leaning against the counter in what he hopes is appropriately seductive. “Wasn’t expectin’ you’s this early.”

Dave shrugs and pats Les on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, someone’s not feeling too great, so we came early for a little pick-me-up.”

Jack frowns and looks down at Les who, for his part, is playing up the pout as he drops his chin onto the counter.

“I need muffins,” says Les with his best sad little kid voice.

Jack barks out a laugh and lightly swats Les on the top of his head.

Les smiles back at him, spirits already lifted.

“Hey,” Dave says to his brother. “Why don’t you go sit down, hm? I’ll get everything.”

Les doesn’t have to be told twice, and he shuffles on over to a small booth. He crosses his arms on the table and rests his cheek against his forearms, eyes staring longingly at the muffins behind the glass.

Shaking his head, Dave digs around in his pocket for the two, 5-dollar bills he plucked out of the money bowl earlier this morning. As Jack slides a blueberry muffin across the counter, he asks, “What can I get for ten dollars?”

Jack shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest, flexing them for good measure as he looks back at the menu board.

Dave pretends not to look at Jack’s biceps, but it’s really hard not to. He wasn’t expecting a barista to be so… _muscular._ Or handsome, for that matter. But Dave’s not going to think like that—he _can’t_ think like that. He doesn’t have the time for cute boys with nice smiles and nicer arms. And even if he did…how many times would he be leaving Les alone in a house he hates just so he can go kiss some boy?

“Lemme see,” says Jack, breaking Dave out of his head. “Hey, why don’t you jus’ bring a card, huh? Easier.”

“Because if I bring my card, I’ll buy things I can’t afford,” Dave says, eyeing the menu. A nice, big coffee sounds pretty good right now. And he can even afford a breakfast sandwich for Les. Maybe that’ll make him feel better.

“Like what?”

Dave and Jack lock eyes. “Like a baseball bat.”

Jack lifts his eyebrows in surprise, smile turning crooked and a little unprotected. “You play sports?” He asks.

Dave laughs—he can’t help it. Him? Playing sports? Yeah, _no_. Jack’s insides turn to goo when he hears Dave’s laugh, and he doesn’t really know what to say anymore. He wasn’t expecting the boy’s laugh to sound so sweet.

_Get it together,_ Jack scolds himself. _Turn your charm back on._

“God, no,” Dave says finally, his smile lingering. “Les and I have always wanted one for home, is all. Can I get a large coffee and a breakfast sandwich, please?”

Jack nods and types it all into the register. “All right. What kind of coffee, hot shot?”

Dave fights off a grimace. “Hot shot?”

Shrugging, Jack tries not to curse out loud. Do nicknames not work with this guy? “Jus’ tryin’ somethin’ out. You don’t like?”

“No,” Dave says with a small laugh, “I don’t like. Give me the sweetest coffee you have. I need the caffeine to last me, like, twelve hours.”

Jack nods and gets started on everything. He eyes Dave as he goes, not wanting to stop looking at the guy but not wanting to seem like a creep, either.

“So,” Jack ventures. “Long day ‘head of you?”

Dave rolls his eyes and rests his weight against the counter, head tilted to the side. “Well, classes start in two hours, then I work until seven-thirty. Not my longest day, but still.” He shrugs.

Jack whistles and wraps up the breakfast sandwich. He hands it to Dave, and their fingers brush. Jack makes it linger and seeing the soft pink that colours Dave’s cheeks gives Jack enough serotonin to last him a week.

“How much do I owe you?” Dave asks through a swallow, pulling his hand away quickly.

Jack checks the register. “Eight-fifty.”

Dave hands over his 5-dollar bills and looks away from Jack. It’s not like him to be so jittery around cute boys. But it’s also not like him to even _be_ around cute boys. Or, rather, cute boys don’t want to be around him.

Just as Jack is handing over both the change and Dave’s coffee, Race comes running down the stairs. His feet are heavy against the wood, backpack slapping against his back. His hair is messy from his fingers, and Dave is struck.

_Don’t I know that guy?_

Race lifts up his head and spots Dave. They both stop. Race snaps and points to Dave. Nothing else happens.

“Uh…Davey?” Jack says, breaking both boys out of their trance. He flicks his eyes over to Race, now a lot less smiley than he was a couple seconds ago. “Your stuff?”

“Right.” Dave shakes his head and picks up the coffee and the change. He shuffles all four things into his hands—coffee balanced on the breakfast sandwich, and muffin and the change in the other hand. “Yeah. Thanks, Jack.”

He slowly shuffles over to the table where Les is half-asleep on the table. He puts everything down and shakes Les’s shoulder to wake him up. Sitting down opposite his brother, Dave pulls out some homework from his backpack and gets to work while Les dives into the muffin and the sandwich.

Jack wipes down the counters and eyes both Dave and Race. He doesn’t like what just happened between them.

Race rounds the counter and slides right next to Jack, grinning from ear to ear.

“Howdy, Jackie boy,” he says.

Jack ducks his head and furrows his brows, lowering his voice so that only Race can hear, he says, “Why’re you lookin’ at Davey like that?”

Race’s eyebrows jump, and his grin falters slightly. Then, he sniffs and shrugs, looking down at Jack with the same amount of glowering. “Dunno. Why? Jealous?”

Jack scoffs, much louder than he meant to. Dave looks up at the sound but ducks his head just as quickly. 

“’m not jealous,” he grumbles and pushes Race away. “You’s jus’ bein’ weird.”

Race laughs and leaves Jack alone behind the counter, going to sit on the edge of the stairs. “Ah, shuddup, Jackie. Work your job.”

Behind his hand, Dave snickers. He keeps his eyes down so as to not draw attention to himself, but Les doesn’t even try to hide his wide grin as he laughs at Jack’s incredulous face. At least he’s feeling better.

~….~

It’s been a couple minutes now since Davey has left to take Les to school, and Race is waiting. With his back pressed against the glass of Medda’s café, he ignores the weight of Jack’s eyes on him from inside the store. They’ve got some customers now, most of them students stumbling around before their morning classes, so Jack can’t go and bug Race.

Race has got a cigarette in his mouth but hasn’t lit it. He’s had enough of Jack’s rants about how bad smoking is for him and how it’s ruining Spec’s lungs and making Crutchie’s legs worse (how that happens, Race still doesn’t know) that he’s been on the road to recovery. He still does it—it’s not easy for him to not light it, but he’s working on it.

Fiddling with the lighter in his hands, Race checks his phone for the time. He’s got class in half and hour.

Finally, Race spots Dave walking up the sidewalk, hands in his pockets and posture straight. He looks like a right nerd, but something about his stance and his walk makes Race scrunch up his face. It’s all too familiar and Race doesn’t know why. It’s annoying.

“Davey boy!” Race calls once Dave is close by. He throws himself forward and drapes an arm around Dave’s shoulders.

Startled and confused, Dave stops walking. He looks at Race with a hesitant smile.

“Um…Hello?”

Race holds out his free hand for Dave to shake and says, “Name’s Race. Jack’s best bud. Saw you this mornin’ with that brother of yours.”

“Yeah,” Dave says, dropping Race’s hand. They start to walk, still linked together by the shoulders. “Can I help you with anything?”

_Hopefully,_ Race thinks, but he doesn’t say anything about what he’s really thinking. Instead, he says this: “You goes to NYU, don’t ya?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Great! So do I. I’ll walk ya’s to school.”

Dave splutters. “Oh, you don’t have to, it’s only—”

“You got class right now?” Race interrupts.

“Yes,” says Dave slowly. “That’s why I’m going to school.”

Race hits Dave in the chest. “I got’s class, too. I’m walking ya.”

They walk in silence until they get to the NYU campus. It’s not awkward, though. Their silence feels like something natural between them, easy going. But Race keeps fiddling with his lighter and his cigarette, and Dave keeps thinking about it. Can’t stop thinking about anything, ever, really.

“That’s bad for you,” Dave says once they step foot on campus. “Smoking.”

Race smiles a little unkindly. “Do ya see smoke?”

Rolling his eyes, Dave lightly pushes Race away. His arm falls from Dave’s shoulders. They keep walking in silence for a while.

They make it to the front steps when Dave asks, “What’s your major?”

“Dance,” Race answers. He tosses his unlit cigarette into a stray garbage can. Opening the door for Dave, he bows and kicks the boy in the shin when he passes by. “Law an’ society is my minor. You?”

“English with a business minor,” says Dave, and he opens his mouth to keep talking, but something catches his eye and he shuts his mouth.

“David Jacobs!” a woman calls from the end of the hallway.

Race looks over to find Katherine Pulitzer marching towards him—or, towards Dave, really. And Race has never had Katherine Pulitzer march towards him before, and he’s sure glad of it, because he’s shaking in his boots. He can’t look her in the eyes and wishes he still had his cigarette.

“Katherine,” Dave says, smiling. He’s put his hands back into his pockets. “How’s it going?”

She points a finger at him and she’s pursing her lips, trying not to smile at Dave’s nervous eyes. “David Jacobs,” she repeats. “Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

Dave’s mouth pops open. “Oh…Katherine, I’m sorry, but my phone died when I was dropping Les off at school. I guess I didn’t—”

She lightly punches him in the shoulder, posture falling slack now that she knows he’s not in trouble. “It’s all right, Dave. Don’t worry about it. I was just wondering where you were—you’re usually early to class.”

Katherine looks over to Race, as if she’s just realized he was there. She smooths her skirt and sticks out her hand.

“We haven’t met,” she says. “I’m—”

“Davey’s sugar ma,” Race interrupts, shaking her hand. “I know.”

Dave chokes on his spit and Katherine lets out a loud, startled laugh. She covers her mouth with her free hand while continuing to shake Race’s hand. Her eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Race, you can’t just—it’s not like that!” Dave splutters, face red with embarrassment.

Katherine laughs, and she finally drops Race’s hand. “Hey, I offered. It’s not my fault he said no.”

It’s Race’s turn to let out a startled laugh. Now that, he wasn’t expecting. “Fuckin’ for real?”

Katherine nods and goes on her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to Dave’s cheek.

“Of course,” she says with a sly smile. She adjusts her backpack and gives Race a pointed look. “Being a ‘sugar ma’ is a compliment. So, thank you.”

The three of them laugh and chat for a little bit more, Dave losing his embarrassment and Race trying to figure out if Katherine Pulitzer is lying or not. If it’s a lie, she’s got a great poker face. If not…Race has got to get himself a sugar ma who’s ready and willing to give him enough money for cigarettes and lighters.

Dave checks his phone and nearly passes out. “Katherine, we gotta go. Class starts in five minutes and it’s all the way across campus.”

Katherine curses under her breath and takes off running without saying goodbye.

Dave gives Race an apologetic smile and starts to jog backwards. “Thank you for walking me, Race!”

“Bye, Davey boy! Bye, Sugar ma!” Race calls back, waving his hands dramatically. He catches a couple of people’s eyes, and he winks at them. They aver their eyes.

Race flips his lighter in his fingers and decides on one thing: he’s got to figure out who David Jacobs is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I love Davey, Katherine, and Race as a trio so maybe that'll stick for the story who knows.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys are enjoying this so far!! Things are going to start happening real soon, and we are romance bound!


	5. Chapter 5

Jack stumbles into his flat late at night. It’s been a long day—his eight-hour shift followed by five hours of painting. Then Crutchie wanted to go out on a walk, stretch his legs and see what happens to them, but they got lost along the way because of course they do. Nobody ever goes where they are supposed to when joining Crutchie on his walks.

Now, Jack is left alone while Crutchie stays the night at his girlfriends.

He expects the flat to be empty by now, and he was hoping for it, to. Something’s itching beneath his skin, and he just wants to be alone. But as he tiptoes through the door, he finds Race sitting on the floor, elbows-deep in an old box.

“What’re you doin’ up?” Jack asks, throwing his jacket over the back of a chair. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” mutters Race. “I knows.”

Jack whistles something low and long. “Alright, well—what’re ya doin’?”

Race flips him off. “Ain’t none of your business.”

Holding up his hands like he’s facing the police, Jack backs off. He knows when to leave Race alone—knows when curiosity ain’t worth the bruise. So, he ducks into his and Crutchie’s bedroom and falls onto the bed, face-first.

Changing out of his clothes seems like a lot of work that Jack really doesn’t have the energy for, so he shimmies out of his jeans and leaves it at that. Balling up his pants and throwing them into the corner of his room, something catches his eye. There, leaning against the wall was a metal baseball bat.

He jumps off the bed and picks it up, swinging it around a few times. Picturing himself as a top of the line Yankee, playing in front of a cheering crowd. His lucky number painted on their cheeks, his colours flying high on clothes and hats and heads. Then he pictures Davey in the crowd, smiling and laughing and cheering him on the loudest. It makes his stomach twist and his cheeks heat up.

The bat dangles from his fingers. He remembers what Davey said the other day, about wanting something he can’t afford. Yeah…Jack knows a thing or two about that. He lays the bat down next to his bed, then slips under the covers, set to dream for hours before he finally closes his eyes.

And if most of his dreams involve Davey, well, then. That’s fine by him.

~….~

When Davey comes in on Friday, tired looking and holding Les’s hand, Jack’s waiting for him. Has been waiting for him ever since that first day when he came running in.

Jack makes sure he looks his best—hair combed through with his fingers, arms on display under his rolled up button-down, a couple of buttons undone just for fun. His smile is big, full of teeth and charm on display.

_Up the ante,_ he thinks. _Maybe then Davey’ll notice._

“Afternoon, boys,” Jack greets.

Les bounds up to the counter first, eyes already on the fresh blueberry muffins. “Hiya, Jack! Can I get a muffin?”

Shaking his head, Jack laughs and pats the kid on the head. “Gimme a minute, aye? Gotta say hi to your brother.” He smiles and works his jaw like he’s chewing gum, flashing Davey a big grin and sparkling eyes. “Hi, Davey.”

Davey smiles big but fights against it just enough to feel fair. His cheeks warm just a little, but he plays into it, giving Jack a quick once over. “Hi, Jack. How are you doing?”

“Better, now,” he says, pushing himself away to grab a blueberry muffin for Les. “Long day?”

Davey scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, when isn’t it? Got a shift until twelve tonight, but it doesn’t start until eight.”

“Yeesh.” Jack taps the muffin’s price into the register. “You want anythin’ else?”

Shaking his head, Davey pats Les on the back. Taking that as his sign, Les scampers off towards an empty booth, happy to eat his muffin.

“Gotta save some money for the weekend,” says Davey, handing Jack the money for the muffin.

“Good idea.” Jack throws the money into the register and slams it shut. Then, he snaps his fingers and points them at Davey, whose eyes widen in confusion. It’s cute. “Hey, I got somethin’ for ya.”

“For me? Jack—” Davey tries to protest, unconsciously following Jack as he speeds out from behind the counter.

Brandishing a nice, metal baseball bat, Jack holds it out for Davey to take. “Ta-da.”

Davey doesn’t react at first. His face scrunches up in confusion, then his eyes widen in surprise. His eyes flick between the bat and Jack, who keeps up a genuine smile. Nothing charming about it, but it makes Davey’s heart skip a beat, and that hasn’t happened before.

“I hope you didn’t spend money on that,” Davey finally says, taking a step towards Jack, who, for his turn, takes a step closer to Davey.

“Nah,” Jack dismisses, shaking the bat in Davey’s direction. Davey picks it up, tossing it from hand-to-hand. “Used to be Albert’s when he played ball, but that was a long time ago. It’s yours now.”

Davey smiles, wide and brilliant and Jack feels himself fall. _Oh, shit._ “Thank you, Jack. Really, this is…I mean, it’s—”

“It’s nothin’,” Jack cuts in, reaching out and squeezing Davey’s shoulder. He lets his hand linger. “Don’t sweat it.”

When Jack has to go back to work and a new (less important and less cute) customer comes in, Davey goes to sit with Les and does some long-awaited homework. Les has already finished his muffin and has his own homework out, but he shoves it away when he sees the baseball bat. He grips it tightly in his hands and jumps up onto his feet on the booth, swinging it around wildly. Davey jumps up and grabs the bat when Les nearly hits a girl walking by.

Stifling a laugh, Jack watches from his peripheral as Davey gives Les one of those big-brother talks—or is it a dad talk? It’s one of those talks where the eyebrows do as much work as the mouth.

Les gives the bat over to Davey with a frown. Then Davey lightly taps the underside of Les’s chin, and Les is smiling again, happy to go back to his homework.

For a moment, Jack wonders what it would be like for Davey to tap the underside of _his_ chin. It would probably feel great. But then he shakes his head because even that’s a little too disgustingly cute for his tastes. Then again…he wouldn’t be opposed if Davey started doing that to him.

It takes a while before Davey gets a phone call. Jack has been making his way to their booth every now again to talk to them, but not too much so that he doesn’t disturb their study time. Besides, he has a few other customers to deal with, to.

As Race and Albert enter the café, Davey leaves in a rush with a phone pressed to his ear. He offers Race a quick smile, which the boy mirrors, before he’s out the door.

“What’s got him so stressed?” Albert asks, not exactly because he cares but more for something to talk about.

Jack shrugs and looks to Les, who pouts as he tries to work out whatever homework he’s got in front of him.

“What do ya say, kid?” Race slides into the opposite side of Les’s booth, pocketing his cigarette and lighter. “What’s the matter with your brother?”

“Lots of things!” Les states with a big smile, happy to not have to focus on math anymore. The boys laugh. “But work called him. They call him a lot.”

It’s not even a minute later that Davey walks back into the café, tapping away on his phone. Brow furrowed and lip trapped between his teeth, he looks worried. Jack rounds the counter quickly and walks towards Davey, hovering but trying not to seem too obvious.

“What’s wrong, Davey?” He asks, trying to catch the boy’s eye.

Davey looks up from his phone for one second before going back to typing. When he’s done, he pockets his phone and places a hand on Les’s head.

“I got called in early to work,” he explains. “I have to be there in the next fifteen minutes, or they’ll cut my pay. Les—are you alright to walk home? I know it’ll be dark soon, but home’s not too far away.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Les stares up at Davey with a sad look of responsibility on his face. It’s something a nine-year-old should never have to look like.

“Yeah,” Les says, clearly not comfortable with the idea of it but familiar enough to lie through it. “It’s okay, Dave. I can get home. What about Katherine? Can’t she drive me home?”

Davey shakes his head and crosses his arms. “She’ll be at work in five minutes. I guess a couple of people called in sick today.”

Nodding, Les looks at Race, then at Jack, then back to Davey. “I can walk home.”

Jack raises his hands. “Woah, woah. I don’t want ya walkin’ home alone Les. You know how dangerous it is out there?”

Davey huffs, clearly annoyed. He knows how dangerous it is out there, thank you very much, and it’s not like he _wants_ Les to walk home alone, but Davey has no time to walk his brother home, and he doesn’t have the money to put both of them on a bus. “Well, I don’t really have another choice, Jack.”

“He can stay here.”

Dave blinks at him. “What?”.

Jack shrugs, trying to play for nonchalant. “Me an’ the boys live right upstairs. Les can stay with us. He’s safe, you’re less stressed—it all works out.”

“Jack,” Davey starts, taking a step closer to the counter. “I can’t let you—”

“I’m offerin’,” Jack reminds him quickly, already knowing what Davey’s about to say. “Take the offer, Davey.”

Squaring their jaws, Davey and Jack stare at each other with equal amounts of determination and stubbornness. Jack takes this time to take in Davey’s eyes—to know the colour and shape and size so that the next time he draws Davey in his sketchbook, his eyes will be perfect.

“Fine,” Davey relents, looking away. He locks eyes with Race, who tips an imaginary hat. “But I work in the morning, too and—”

“He can stay the night,” Jack interjects. “Stay the day, too.”

Les gasps and slaps his hands against the table, smile growing wide. “Really? I can stay a whole day?”

“Yeah.” Jack shoves his hands into his pockets and bends at the waist, wiggling his brows at Les, who laughs and mimics him. “As long as Davey’s good with it. Davey?”

Davey checks his phone for the time, and curses under his breath. “Okay, fine. Stay the night and stay the day, I’ll come pick you up when my shift is over, okay? I’ve gotta run but—Les, stay safe. Love you.”

As Davey takes off in a speed walk, Les jumps up onto the booth seat and waves enthusiastically at Davey’s back. “Love you, too, Dave! Bye!”

When Davey is gone and Les has sat back down, Albert kicks at the ground and fixes his hat. “Didn’t even say thank you,” he mutters.

Jack and Race both wave him off, and Les sticks out his tongue. Then, Les turns to Jack and squints his eyes.

“You’re not subtle,” Les says with a nod.

Jack rolls his eyes and lightly smacks the top of Les’s head. “Ah, shuddup.”

~….~

It’s chaos, and it might’ve been a mistake for Jack to bring Les upstairs. For the past two hours, Race has stolen the kid and pushed him into the corner, where he teaches Les about poker and how to gamble. Now, in return, Les is beating Race at rock-paper-scissors and has been beating him for the past twelve minutes.

“You’re cheatin’,” Race accuses. “There is no way I’m losin’ every time. It ain’t fair!”

Les laughs maniacally. He’s chosen rock and keeps pounding on Race’s scissors. “Davey taught me how to win every time. You’ll never beat me.”

“Of fuckin’ course he did.”

“Hey,” Jack interrupts, cuffing Race on the back of the head. “Don’t swear in front of the kid. You want to send Les back to Davey with a few new words?”

Race shrugs, and the both of them stop playing rock-paper-scissors.

“I know all the words you guys say,” Les admits. “Davey swears all the time when he thinks I’m not listening.”

Somehow, that’s both surprising and not surprising at the same time. Jack and Race share an impressed look before going back to their respective duties. It’s now Jack’s time to hang out with Les, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never hung out with a little kid before. The only thing Jack really knows how to do is draw.

“You know how to draw, kid?” Jack asks.

Les shrugs. “I can draw a butterfly.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

Jack leads Les to his room and tells the kid to sit wherever he wants on the floor. Shuffling around, Jack gathers up some supplies for their art time. Paintbrushes, paper, paints, water, pencils—the whole shebang. He sets them out in front of Les, then sits on the floor opposite the kid.

They start to draw.

It’s quiet for a while, with Les asking questions every now and then about what brushes he should use and how much water he needs on his paintbrush. Jack sinks into it, not used to having a painting session like this—stress free and without a due date. It’s been a long time since he’s painted for the sake of painting. And to sit here with Les on a cold floor with mild conversation, it feels nice to just sit back and relax.

Jack thought he might regret taking Les for the night—and the day—but so far he’s happy with his decision. Except he’s a little nervous. Actually, he’s a lot nervous. What if Les gets hurt? What if Les starts to cry because he misses Davey? Or what if Jack looses Les somewhere outside? He can see it all now—Davey coming back to the café tomorrow, wanting to know where his brother has gone. His angry eyes and how he quickly starts to yell at Jack, saying a bunch of things he probably wouldn’t mean but Jack would still take it personally.

Shaking his head, Jack tries to get the thought out of his head. He hates the thought of Davey being mad at him.

“This is nice,” Les says, snapping Jack from his mind.

“Hm?”

“Painting,” Les clarifies, picking up his wet piece of paper and showing it off to Jack. “Do you like it? It’s a butterfly.”

Jack smiles. It’s not bad, actually. For a pink and yellow and brown butterfly, that is. “It’s really good, Les. Natural talent. You ever paint before?”

Les shakes his head, a little sadly. Then he perks up with a smile. “Oh, yeah! Davey said I used to paint with our sister all the time when I was a baby.”

“A sister?” Jack doesn’t remember hearing anything about a sister. Maybe she’s away at University? Studying abroad?

“Her name was Sarah,” Les says, and his smiles turns small and mournful. “From what I remember, she was a lot of fun. But Davey’s fun, too, so it’s okay.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say. Past tense isn’t a good sign. And Jack isn’t stupid—he’s not. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Davey and his kid brother living alone, pay check to pay check, and having a sister in the past tense. He can only imagine the parents…

“Davey’s fun?” Jack asks, going back to his painting. He’s not done yet. “What’s he do for fun?”

And boy, does that get Les going. He talks about how Davey isn’t _always_ fun because Davey doesn’t always have the time to be fun. He’s always studying or at school or working. But, in the few hours they get Davey always plays tag with him or even lets Les win at hide-and-seek even though Davey has a real skill for it. Les talks about how Davey used to sing when they were younger, and how he only hums nowadays but it still makes him happy. Or how, sometimes when it’s raining, Les will jump in all the puddles and Davey will follow him, kicking water at each other and laughing for hours about it later.

Jack listens and finds himself to be a little starry eyed. That whole side of Davey that Jack hasn’t met yet sounds so nice and fun and cute. Not that this current side of Davey isn’t nice and cute—he’s a little more than cute, but that’s a story for drunk Jack.

Surprisingly, the night doesn’t turn out that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! It's been a couple days, but hey, it'll probably be like this from now on lol. But I hope you guys like this chapter, a little push up on the romance maybe?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Everybody Say Yeah, from Kinky Boots.  
> (I love this song and so does Davey so everyone go listen to it, it's a bop and a half)

There isn’t a lot Les gets to do in life. He doesn’t get to go on vacations or go to festivals on the weekends. He doesn’t get to see a lot of movies in the theaters, and by the time he can watch it on their small TV, someone has already spoiled it for him. He doesn’t get big family dinners or breakfasts where there’s pancakes and eggs and bacon and the strong smell of coffee mixed with loud laughter and even louder conversations.

He sits up in bed when someone yells loudly. A harsh “ _shh!_ ” cuts through the house followed by more laughter. Les stares at the door, a little disbelieving. A house hasn’t been this loud in four years.

Shuffling out to the kitchen, Les doesn’t know what he was expecting to see—maybe he was dreaming of finding Davey sitting there with Sarah, arguing about society while their parents flit around the kitchen making pancakes and laughing. What he wasn’t expecting was to see Jack and Crutchie pushing each other around, waving dirtied spatulas while Race sits cross-legged on the counter, clutching something close to his chest. Albert is flipped over the table, a textbook placed over his head by a snickering Specs.

Specs spots him first. “Mornin', Les.”

It makes everyone else look up. Save for Albert, who snores through the chaos.

“Kid!” Jack shouts, waving his hand excitedly for Les to come closer. “Hope you slept good. I know Crutchie's a twitchy sleeper.”

Crutchie scoffs dramatically. “Me? _I’m_ not a twitchy sleeper Jack—you’re a kicker.”

“Ah, you’re such a liar, Crutch. Go ask the couch if I kicked ‘im all night, aye?”

Crutchie hits Jack in the arm with his spatula, leaving a nice red mark on Jack’s skin. The boys laugh together, and Les falls into it, wrapped up in the warm sounds of laughter. It’s been a while since he’s heard laughter this genuine. Nowadays, Davey’s laugh is…dull. It’s only gotten a little brighter since coming to Medda’s café.

“You want breakfast?” Jack asks Les, dodging a kick from Race. “We’re makin’ pancakes.”

“Yes, please!” Les beams. “I haven’t had pancakes in forever.”

“In _forever?”_ Jack yelps with an atrocious amount of dramatics. “Geez, kid, what’s Davey feedin’ ya?”

“Fruit Loops.”

Jack smiles. “Hey, it’s better than Raisin Bran.”

Race laughs. “Davey boy seems like the kinda guy who likes Raisin Bran.”

Shaking his head, Les says proudly, “Davey started crying once when I picked up a box of Raisin Bran because he didn’t want to waste his money on bad cereal when he could buy Fruit Loops instead.”

The kitchen goes quiet. No one was expecting it, and now everyone was imagining it. Davey, with only enough money in his pockets to buy one box of cereal and maybe some bread, crying in the middle of the cereal isle while his kid brother brandishes an ugly box of Raisin Bran. It’s Race who laughs first—loud and insane and with no end in sight. He almost falls off the counter with the force of his laughter, hands still clutching someone to his chest.

Jack and Crutchie join in on the laughter, too, but they’re a little preoccupied on making sure the pancakes don’t burn to get so lost in it as Race does.

When everyone has settled down, Race slips off the counter and throws an arm around Les’s shoulders as best he can. Les is a pretty short kid, and Race is very much _not_ a short kid. It looks really weird, but Specs doesn’t question it when they come near the table, just continues to stack things on top of Albert’s head.

“Say, you know where Davey used to go to school?” Race asks, eyes flicking down to whatever he is clutching close to his chest.

Les furrows his brows, trying to think of the answer. It’s been a couple years since Davey’s been out of high school. “Nope!”

Race deflates and gently shoves the kid into a chair opposite Specs. He shoves whatever it is he clutches into his pocket, careful not to crumple it. Chewing on his bottom lip, he sits next to Les and zones out, leaving Les to watch as Specs continues to stack random things onto Albert’s head.

~….~

It’s been a long day. Dave’s been working for far too long. His feet hurt and his head aches. Katherine doesn’t work on weekends, so Dave was left alone with a bunch of people who don’t want to talk to him. Really, Dave doesn’t want to talk to _them_ either, but the point still stands that Dave has no works friends outside of Katherine. Actually…he doesn’t have any friends outside of Katherine. Period.

As Dave rides the bus towards Medda’s theater—he got a text from Jack (Les gave him Dave’s phone number) saying where they were—he wonders if he can call Jack a friend. He’s certainly not a stranger anymore, considering Dave trusted him his kid brother, but they haven’t ever really hung out before. So he’s…what? A friendly acquaintance?

Dave shakes his head. It’s not worth thinking about. Analyzing the relationship between him and Jack. It’s dangerous. Because Jack is a cute boy with a nice smile and great arms who is good with his kid brother. He’s kind and funny and gave Dave a fucking baseball bat all because he mentioned wanting one. So maybe Jack could be more than a friendly acquaintance?

As Jack gets off the bus, he muses to himself what to do. Is it even worth it? Trying to have something romantic, that is. Dave doesn’t have the time, and he’s not entirely sure that Jack would want something romantic. Sure, he’s flirty, but it seems like Jack is flirty with everyone. How is Dave supposed to be sure that it could be something special?

Medda’s theater is beautiful. Dave’s passed it a few times through out his university years, but he’s never been inside. And wow—is it ever something?

Already, Dave can hear some music. It’s a slow intro, sad sounding, but Dave recognizes it immediately: _Kinky Boots._ God, Dave hasn’t listened to _Kinky Boots_ in forever. Since high school, actually.

Walking towards the sound, Dave smiles as he spots the stage. He was expecting it to be empty, but the boys have rushed on stage. Boys, to be specific: Race, Albert, and Specs. Race is jumping around like his life depends on it, completely off tune to the slow song, but Dave knows what’s about to happen. Knows how the song is going to pick up soon. Albert and Specs are doing some weird things— _not_ dancer things. He’s pretty sure they’re just clowning Race as he dances.

From the sidelines, Jack and Les watch. Dave slides up beside Les and places a hand on his head.

Les spins around with a smile. “Dave! You’re back!”

Jack spins around, too, his smile just as wide. His eyes sparkle as he says, “Hey, Davey! Had a good shift?”

Dave smiles at them both, and goes to answer when Race comes crashing off stage.

“Davey!” He cries, fingers circling Dave’s wrist. He starts walking back onto the stage, tugging Dave along with him. Immediately, Dave’s insides twist. _Not the stage, not the stage, not the stage._ It’s been so long since he’s been on a stage. “Come sing with me.”

“Sing?” Dave counters. He’s in the middle of the stage now, and the song is starting to pick up. He knows the words, knows what’s coming. His feet even know what they’re supposed to do. “I don’t—”

Les comes rushing onto the stage, Jack following behind him. “Show ‘em your pipes, Dave! Sing, sing, sing!”

Jack is laughing at the look of bewilderment on Dave’s face. “Your pipes, aye?” He smirks. “C’mon Davey, sing for me?”

With Jack’s puppy eyes, how can Dave say no? Besides, it’ll be nice to sing again. And he has a strange feeling this might make something click between him and Race.

Dave raises his hands, rolls his shoulders, and he starts to sing.

“You can throw out the old way, ‘cause it’s been done,” he sings and _God_ is he rusty.

While the rest of the boys stumble in surprise at Dave’s voice, Race throws an arm around Dave’s shoulder and plays into the bit.

“We’re gettin’ ready for the new,” Race sings, throwing a grin Dave’s way. He’s significantly more relaxed than Dave is—not because of the stage, but because of the audience.

Dave ducks under Race’s arm with a smile. “Witness the future of price and son.”

“Ow! Papa’s got a brand-new shoe.” Race gets into his dancing, twisting his hips like a lunatic and shaking his shoulders like he’s got no cares. And he probably doesn’t. “A life of broken heels, got you down.”

Something about the familiarity of Race’s moves, whether Dave knows it or not, makes him relax, and he lets himself get into the groove of the song.

“Well we’ve got your solution,” Dave sings.

Race points at Davey. “Get up.”

Davey points back. “Get it on and get in step.”

The pair crash back together in a mess of limbs as they sing, together, “With our kinky revolution!”

The rest of the boy’s watch, amazed, as Dave shows off his vocal skills. None of them were expecting Dave to sound this good, least of all Jack. And Jack? Well, he’s speechless. This is a whole new Dave—and a Dave he really, _really_ likes.

Completely in his own world, Les jams to the song, revelling in hearing Dave’s voice. It’s been so long since he’s heard it like this.

When Dave starts to shimmy his shoulders, it’s over. Dave is feeling the music now, getting in tune with his old musical theater self he locked in a closet. And boy, did he ever miss feeling like this.

Dave spins on his heel to face Jack, a blinding smile on his face as he and Race continue to sing. Immediately, Jack can feel his face getting hot and flushed because this kind of Dave is beautiful and good looking and Jack wasn’t ready for this.

Reaching forward, Dave takes hold of Jack’s wrist and pulls him back towards the middle of the stage.

“Can you picture this?” Dave sings, dancing with his shoulders and bending his knees to the beat. “A glamorous, fashion exhibition?”

Jack can’t picture anything other than Dave’s smiling face and his wonderful, magnificent voice. Who told this guy to _not_ get on Broadway? Because whoever it was, is a fool.

Jack dances alongside Dave, but he’s fumbling and stumbling over his feet. The wrist where Dave keeps his fingers is burning up, hot under the want for this to mean something more than a nice little dance. But Jack’s trying his best not to think of it that way. All he wants to focus on is Dave being so close to him and having the time of his life.

“Lemme hear you say yeah, yeah,” Dave calls out to the group of boys, who chorus back with the enthusiasm of a dozen hungry lions finding their prey. Dave’s voice is lightyears ahead of theirs, but it’s still fun to hear them all come together. “Say yeah, yeah.”

The boys sing back, “Yeah, yeah!”

Dave gives Jack a quick spin—confident and smooth. Unlike anything Dave has ever done before, and Jack dies inside. Because this is amazing and— _is Davey flirting with me?_

Just as Jack thinks that yeah, maybe that’s what’s happening, Dave lets go of Jack’s wrist and slides back over to Race, who seemed to be thinking the exact same thing.

Race and Dave hit each other’s shoulders, coming to a full stop. In their heads, they’ve both got a memorized routine from way back when, and all the details are foggy, but the main parts stick out.

For the rest of the song, as Race and Dave sing and call out for their friends to respond, they dance together like they were born to do it. Dave may not be the best dancer, but he’s got enough rhythm to keep up with the bundle of energy and skill that is Race Higgins.

And it’s a sight to behold, really. Two boys from extremely different beginnings, coming together to dance on a stage surrounded by boys who are cheering them on. And everybody is so happy in this moment, singing along and dancing to their own routine, that nobody gives two damns how weird this is. All anybody can focus on is the joy that radiates off of each and every one of them.

Les scoots over to Jack and tugs on the older boy’s sleeve. When Jack bends down to his level, Les says in his ear, “Dave hasn’t sang in four years.”

Jack furrows his brow and looks over at Dave. The song may be over now, but Dave is beaming and panting, locked to Race’s side like a puzzle piece. “Oh, yeah?”

Les nods. “Was his dream to be on Broadway.”

It breaks Jack’s heart to know that Dave gave it all up for…for what? He looks back at Les and— _oh._

Dave and Race face each other, both with quickly morphing incredulous looks on their faces. Slowly, pieces of a monochrome puzzle link together, until Race reaches up and grabs onto Dave’s head in excitement.

“I knew it!” He cries, jumping high up. Dave reaches out to grab his elbows, just as excited to finally understand. “I fuckin’ knew it!”

“Watch the language ‘round the kid, Race,” Dave reprimands, but it doesn’t hold his usual stern tone. “Why didn’t you say you were apart of your school’s theater program?”

Race shrugs. “Dunno, Davey. Why didn’t _you?_ Never would’a said a nerd like you was my old buddy.”

There’s no argument for that. Dave isn’t anything like he was back in high school. Back four years ago, Dave still had parents, still had a sister and stable income. He still had free time and hobbies and a love for life. But as much as he can complain about it (which isn’t a lot) Dave wouldn’t dare say he doesn’t like his life. Because he loves caring for his kid brother, loves being able to push himself to be smarter, better, richer—all for Les’ sake. And Dave wouldn’t risk pushing that all away from some pipe dream he used to have back in high school.

Dave punches Race’s shoulder lightly. “If your name wasn’t Race, I would’ve put two-and-two together on the day we met.”

“Anthony ain’t a fittin’ name,” Race replies, throwing an arm around Dave’s shoulders. “’sides, you wouldn’t’a placed shit, Davey. Don’t lie.”

Dave laughs, and Jack watches from the background, mind still reeling at how Dave can sing like a God damn angel and wasn’t allowed to follow that big dream of his. And now this? Dave and Race apparently used to know each other? Jack doesn’t understand it.

Walking up to the two boys, who are so wrapped up in their own conversation, Jack lightly touches Dave’s wrist. It catches his attention immediately.

“Jack!” Dave’s smile is wide and beaming, chest heaving and hair a curled mess form all his dancing. Jack loses all of his ability to speak. “Thank you so much for taking Les last night. It saved me a lot of stress.”

“No worries, Davey,” says Jack through a swallow. “Uh, hey—do you two know each other? Or are ya’s just excited because Davey here can sing like an angel?”

Immediately, Dave flushes and fumbles out something like an argument, but Race is cutting in quick and easy, shutting down any attempt of covering up what just happened.

Race leans close to Jack, as if wanting to tell a secret. “Davey an’ I used to go to the same high school. Better than that, though—we used to be buddies in our school’s theater program. Then he dropped outta theater and we fell apart. _But_ he’s back now and I officially have a new best friend.” Race turns around and walks away, flipping off Albert as he yells, “Get fucked, Al!”

This time, Dave doesn’t even try to shout at him for the foul language. It will never do anything.

Turning to look at Jack, Dave isn’t quite sure what to do or what to say. Jack is looking at him with the same look you find the cheesy movies—you know, after a big secret has been revealed which only serves to make the main characters love each other more? Yeah, it looks like that.

“Hey,” Jack says, and it’s softer than Dave has ever heard before. He reaches forward to lightly punch Dave’s shoulder. “Meet me up in the rafters?”

Dave smiles. “Yeah. Give me a minute?”

“Of course.” Jack runs off towards the stairs, where he takes them three at a time in his haste. Dave watches him disappear into the rafters, hidden by the curtains and their shadows. It’s probably the only private place in the whole theater.

Taking a deep breath, Dave tries to calm his racing heart. A lot has happened today. He’s still reeling from singing with Race, of being hit by the overwhelming feeling of being on a stage again and singing like his problems didn’t exist. Like his responsibilities weren’t real. Looking over at Les—happy, carefree Les—he’s reminded of reality. Of how this pipe dream of his isn’t going to be coming true any time soon.

Looking up at the rafters, Dave wonders if that, too, is only a pipe dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
> one, hi I just finished Julie and the Phantoms and when I tell y'all I CRIED SO DAMN HARD ItS NOT FAIR NO ONE TOLD ME I WAS GONNA GET EMOTIONALLY INVESTED IN SOME HIMBO GHOSTS AND A BADASS GIRL WITh GREAT FASHION SENSE!!  
> two, have any of you guys ever watched Ben Fankhauser perform Take Back the Night? Because I watch it daily and that energy is basically what I was imagining Davey's energy to be when he and Race were singing.
> 
> I loved writing this, and I hope you guys loved reading this!! News things are coming right around the corner :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! Without trying to make it too spoiler-y, there is a TRIGGER WARNING for MILD VIOLANCE. So just...beware? It's nothing graphic I don't think (?) but just be careful if that might be a trigger for you. Everything will be recapped in the next chapter without the graphics, so if you have to skip it then you can still know what happened and follow along with the story.
> 
> Stay safe <3

The rafters are peaceful, Dave finds. Dark and secluded, the music softly plays beneath his feet as he makes his way over to Jack. It’s like its own little universe inside of the theater. Even as he’s making his way towards Jack, he’s thinking of Race and of the old days. Back when everything was good and stress free. Back when he had some money in his pocket and could go sing and dance without worrying about when his brother needs to be picked up, fed, comforted, taught.

“Hey.” Dave sits down next to Jack, letting his legs dangle over the edge. From up here, he can see all the inner workings of a show.

Jack smiles at him. “Hey yourself. Didn’t know you could sing like an angel, Davey.”

Dave flushes, stammering his way through an explanation. Nobody’s ever said he sang like an angel before. And coming from Jack? “Well, I mean—an _angel_ is an overstatement. I haven’t sang in…four years, I guess. Pretty sure Race was the last person to hear me sing.”

“Race…” Jack looks down at his feet, fingers tapping against the rafter. “Didn’t know you guys used to be buddies.”

Laughing, Dave shakes his head in bewilderment. “Right? I didn’t know until today. I mean, back then he wasn’t ‘Race’ to me. He was just Tony.” Dave shifts himself to face Jack, softening his voice when he says, “Hey, thank you for taking Les. I know it was last minute and you probably had other things to do, but…it was really nice of you.”

Jack looks at him through his lashes, half a smile playing on his lips. “Was a pleasure, Davey. You’ve got quite some brother, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Think he said somethin’ ‘bout Raisin Bran?”

Dave groans and drops his head into his hands. Jack is already laughing at him. “Not about me in the grocery store, right?”

Patting Dave on the back, Jack says, “It was you in the grocery store.”

“It’s not my fault!” Dave cries, shoulders shaking with laughter. “You would cry, too, if your brother wanted _Raisin Bran_ of all things. I only had so much money and I wasn’t going to waste it on bad cereal.”

When the laughing settles down, something somber comes over Jack’s face. His hand falls to Dave’s waist, where he loops his finger through one of Dave’s belt loops and tugs a little. It’s mindless, but it makes Dave shiver.

“Where d’you live, Davey?” Jack asks, looking straight at Dave as if there is nothing else he’d rather look at.

It’s hard to explain without feeling embarrassed. One time, when Dave had to show Katherine where he lived for the first time, he nearly started crying. 

“Uh, well…” Dave looks away, stares at the back of a backdrop. “It’s this small apartment complex. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen. The important stuff. It’s cheap, which is why we live there.”

“Is it safe?”

Dave hesitates. His eyes flick over to Jack’s for a moment, and he doesn’t know how to read them. “Nothing bad has happened to us yet.”

“Davey—”

“Hey.” Dave grabs Jack’s hand and squeezes it. He watches Jack’s shoulders drop, but his face is still pinched and set in stubborn unease. “It’s okay. Les and I are safe. And he was safer last night thanks to you. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Jack doesn’t look so convinced. He links their fingers together and stares at them. Looking back up at Dave, he asks, “You’ll call me if anythin’ happens, yeah?”

For a split second, Dave wonders how it got this far. How he got so close to a barista in the span of a week. But then his brain doesn’t want to focus on that—it only wants to focus on Jack’s pretty eyes and the warmth of his hand.

“Yeah,” says Dave. “I’ll call you.”

~….~

Les hums as they walk home. He’s skipping as he goes, rushing ahead of Dave every few seconds before backtracking. The sun is close to setting, and Les doesn’t want to get lost. Sure, he’s walked this road a thousand times, but he’s still scared whenever Dave isn’t with him. It’s a whole thing.

They stayed at Medda’s theater for a while, hanging out with the boys and enjoying the company. Mostly, Dave caught up with Race and hung out with Jack. It was nice to see his old best friend again, though it was hard to put the Tony he knew next to the Race he knows now. They both have a lot to say and will say it no matter what, but this new Race is a lot more confident in himself and can jump _a lot_ higher.

Dave forgot how much he loved watching people dance. Especially Race. It’s like a full acrobatic show—like _Cirque du Soleil_ just for his eyes.

And hanging out with Jack all day? Now that’s a good time. As they walk home, Dave keeps thinking about the rafters. How soft it felt to be hidden just the two of them. How the shoulder touches and the hand holding felt a little too intimate for a barista and their customer. But Dave’s pretty sure they can be called friends by now. And maybe there’s something more hidden beneath everything, but Dave doesn’t—he doesn’t know if he can even _do_ a relationship.

Dates are expensive and time consuming, and Dave has neither of those flowing freely out of his pockets. If he’s not working, he’s supposed to be studying. Today was the exception, so tomorrow will just have to be a full day of studying and doing homework. Plus, going on dates meant leaving Les behind, and Les isn’t a big fan of staying at home all by himself. Their neighbourhood is sketchy, and their building isn’t the safest, but they make do.

If anything, Dave would feel extra guilty having a boyfriend. He doesn’t know why, really, but it eats away at his stomach. Would it be selfish to get into a relationship right now? Somewhere in his mind, a voice is yelling at him, calling out to him that it’s been four long years and it’s damn time he did something selfish. But the rest of his brain is bigger and louder, and it’s shutting that idea down real fast, because there’s no time to selfish until Les is in high school.

Dave holds the door open for Les at the front of their building. Watching his brother go and jump up all the stairs, he’s reminded how young Les is. How much he has to grow and what he has yet to learn. All these things—and Dave has to be the one who teaches it all. Puberty, dates, math, loans, credit card debt. All these stupidly adult things that Dave himself hasn’t even fully figured out yet.

Suddenly, Dave feels very, very small in a role that is very, very big.

As Dave is walking up the stairs, his phone buzzes. Pulling it out, he finds a text message from Jack. Instinctively, Dave smiles.

**_Jack:_ ** _got home safe??_

It’s been less than thirty minutes since they’ve talked, and Dave already feels relieved to see Jack’s name on his screen. He’s gone, and he’s gone _hard._

Smiling, Dave texts him back.

**_Davey:_ ** _Just got back with no troubles._

He unlocks the door and lets Les go rushing in.

“Hey,” he calls out to Les. “It’s homework time, alright? I’ll make dinner now, but if you have any questions, ask me.”

Les nods dutifully and rushes into their room, coming back out seconds later with his backpack, schoolwork, and a pencil. “Got it.”

As Dave goes about making dinner, he keeps texting with Jack back and forth. It’s nice to text someone who isn’t Katherine for a change. And the flow of conversation is easy until they both fall off and focus on other things. Like making dinner, for instance.

Dave isn’t the best cook. In fact, he’s a pretty _bad_ cook, but he makes do with the small set of skills that he has. Les has to eat, so Dave has to cook. Whether it’s good or bad doesn’t really matter, though Dave would like to put something on a plate and have it both look and taste good for once. But he can only do so much with eggs, bread, and peppers.

When dinner is ready, Dave switched Les's homework for a plate full of food. Les doesn’t put up much of a fight and instead dugs in immediately.

“Thanks, Dave!” He says through a mouth full of food.

“Close your mouth,” Dave says, his mouth flying on autopilot. Reminding his brother of his manners has been his job ever since Les could talk. “Did you have fun last night?”

Les immediately brightens. “So much fun! Jack taught me how to paint a butterfly and they made pancakes for me and Race taught me how to play poker.”

Caught off guard, Dave chokes on his dinner. He slaps his chest a couple times and chugs some water. When his coughing has died down, he rasps out, “He _what?_ ”

“Poker,” says Les a little hesitantly. “Race showed me how to gamble for jellybeans.”

It’s not even been a day since Dave has found his old best friend, and he is already regretting it. Damn Race and his inability to not gamble in front of kids.

Dave scoffs. “What, he couldn’t teach you how to dance?”

Les gasps, excited. “Do you think he would?”

“Ask next time you see him.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Dave echoes. That’s a lot of time to visit Jack and the boys—but haven’t they seen one another enough recently? Besides…Sundays are the rare days that Dave and Les have a whole day to their lonesome. No work, no school, barely any work to do because even Dave knows that Sundays are for rest and relaxation. “Aren’t we—”

“Wait!” Les cries, throwing down his fork hard enough to make Dave jump. “Not tomorrow. Tomorrow is us day!”

Dave smiles, glad that Les remembers what Sundays are for.

“Tell you what,” says Dave. “How about I read you a story tonight? Any one of your choosing. And tomorrow we can go to the park or something.”

Frowning and showing off his big puppy eyes, Les says, “Can you sing to me instead?”

He hasn’t been asked that in a long time. It’s like his vocal cords had cut off the ability to sing until today, and Les is going to take full advantage of it. Dave shouldn’t have expected anything different.

“Sure,” says Dave. “I’ll sing to you.”

~….~

When the dishes have all been washed and put away and all the homework has been finished, Les snuggles into bed with Dave hot on his heel.

The bat Jack had given him rests against the wall by the door. Sometimes, Dave forgets about it, but it’s hard to ignore. It fits nothing in their bedroom decor wise. A Jacobs has never played baseball.

Dave sits on the edge of Les’s mattress and smiles down at him. A night without stress is a rare night, and Dave is going to soak it in.

“Ready?” Dave asks, sweeping some hair out of Les’s eyes.

Les smiles and pulls the blanket up to his chin. “Ready.”

There’s this old Hebrew lullaby their mom used to sing them when there was a bad storm outside. Dave, Les, and Sarah would hide together in one bed, covers thrown over their heads, while their mom sat on the floor and sang to them so softly that it was hard to ignore. Eventually, the three of them would fall asleep to the sound a gentle voice in a language they didn’t understand yet.

Channeling his inner motherly instincts (which is very hard), Dave sings while Les closes his eyes and starts to relax. For a moment, everything is nice. For the first time in four years, Dave feels at peace.

Then the noises start.

It’s the thuds that come first. Dave doesn’t notice them too much, because this complex is loud and people come home at all hours of the night. If the complex were ever silent, that would be more worrisome than the thudding of feet against the cold floors.

He can hear the thuds getting closer, quieter as they keep going along. Les peaks an eye open, but Dave keeps singing the same song and lulls him back to his near sleep. His ears pick up when the thudding footsteps stop, and he lets his shoulders drop from his ears where, unbeknownst to Dave, his shoulders had raised.

The sound of a doorknob jiggling makes Dave stop singing. It’s a little violent—like someone is rushed to get inside—but quiet enough to be left alone if Dave had been sleeping. But Dave isn’t sleeping, and it’s entirely too loud to pass off as someone’s doorknob.

Les sits up in bed, eyes wide and full of worry. “Dave…?”

Dave holds up his hand, turning his head to stare at the open bedroom door. “Shh…stay here.”

Standing from the bed, Dave tiptoes towards the bedroom door. His hand reaches out and picks up the cold baseball bat. It’s heavy and would be hard to swing with precision, but Dave doesn’t think he needs precision. He hopes he doesn’t have to swing it at all. Maybe he’s just fooling himself. Being paranoid that someone is at his door, locking picking it. Forcing their way in.

The noises stop, but it’s not long until the slight creaking of their front door opening fills the room.

Dave gasps quietly, grip tightening on the bat. His heart beats against his chest loudly, pounding with a ferocity he wasn’t aware his heart was capable of. It’s almost all he could hear—except the soft footsteps of a burglar breaking into his home.

Before he can second guess himself, Dave throws the bedroom door open and brandishes his baseball bat, swinging wildly out in front of him. There’s a yelp of fear from the burglar, but Dave isn’t paying enough attention to the man. He’s just trying to keep him away from away from the bedroom. Away from Les.

Dave lands two hits to the man’s stomach before his bat is caught and torn out of his hands. Dave lets it go easily, shocked. What’s happening? Their house is so dark he can’t even see who he is attacking, but he knows he isn’t winning this fight. His weapon is gone—what else does he have?

A punch is thrown—it hits Dave’s cheek, and he reels back, almost tripping over his feet. Pain flares through his face. Another punch is thrown, but Dave keeps stumbling away from the hits, enough to get away and slam the bedroom door closed with his back. He can hear Les scrambling around inside, afraid and confused and left out, but all Dave needs to know is that he’s safe.

“Get out of my house!” Dave yells, hoping to God that his cries are loud enough to wake the neighbours.

The burglar doesn’t respond. This time, when he throws a punch, Dave ducks out of the way and kicks out. His toes catch the burglar’s knee and it buckles under the pain. The burglar drops the bat on the ground, and it crashes onto the wood floors with an ugly sound.

Dave dives after it, ignoring when the burglar grasps at his legs to keep him down and away from the bat. As soon as Dave’s fingers wrap around the hilt of the bat, he rolls around and swings like his life depends on it. And right now, it does. The bat hits the burglar in the shoulders first, smashing against whatever bone’s sit underneath his skin, then his swing hits the burglar in the temple. 

Groaning, the burglar flies away from Dave and stumbles to his feet. Staggering on his feet, the burglar spins in different directions, not knowing where to go. Dave jumps to his feet after the man, tears pooling in his eyes, scared for his life but not ready to stop fighting yet.

“Get out of my house!” Dave yells again, swinging his bat around as he herds the stumbling burglar towards the wide-open front door. “Go! Get out!”

The burglar nearly trips over his own feet as he runs out the door, clutching his head in pain.

Dave quickly throws down the bat, which he doesn’t notice is covered in a little bit of blood (if he had noticed, he would’ve thrown up), and slams the door shut. Pressing his back against the door, he slides down until he’s sitting on the ground. His head falls back, heart beating so hard and fast that he can’t focus on anything else. His hands ache and his stomach twists and turns in knots.

When a hand hesitantly touches his knee, Dave jerks away, ready for a fight. His eyes fly open and—Les is standing in front of him, crouched and worried with his big eyes full of tears, cheeks wet and sticky.

“Dave?” He whimpers, and it breaks Dave’s heart to see him like that.

Opening his arms, Dave drop’s his legs to lay flat against the ground and lets Les crawl into his lap. Wrapping his brother in a hug, Dave drops his chin on top of Les’s head, running a hand up and down Les’s back. Trying to sooth him even as they both shake.

That night, Dave doesn’t sleep. He keeps waiting for the burglar to come back with some friends and finish the job. But that never happens. There are no more footsteps in the hallway, no more jiggling of a doorknob. Even so, Dave can’t think of anything other than the baseball bat in his hands and the feeling of it breaking someone’s bones.

Dave doesn’t feel safe anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute! Hello, hi, how are you all? I had a lot more work to do this week, so pumping out this chapter took a little longer than I was hoping, but it's up now and I hope you guys enjoy it! I'm not super happy with the ending, it feels really abrupt, but I had no clue how to end it otherwise lol.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! 
> 
> OH ALSO P.S: has anybody watched Julie and the Phantoms? Because HOLY SHIT IS THAT SHOW EVER AMAZING. I love it it's taken over my life as much as Newsies has and that's saying something.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Long time no see, ey? Well, first off, hi thank you for waiting for this short chapter (sorry). Secondly, there's a TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter, too. The TW is for mentions of death. It's not detailed, but it is mentioned, so just be safe if that's a possible trigger for any of y'all.
> 
> Enjoy the read!

Jack doesn’t plan on doing anything today. No painting, no making coffee, and no gambling. Just laying in bed and daydreaming until he falls asleep. Maybe today he’ll dream of running away to some far-off place like Las Vegas or Canada. Or maybe he’ll just…dream of nothing. It’s always relaxing to close his eyes and think of absolutely nothing—there’s not any pressure to be anyone or to do anything. Everything is sweet and slow and calming.

His plans take a swift turn when he gets a call from Davey.

Jumping out of bed at the ringtone (specially set to a _Kinky Boots_ song thanks to yesterday’s performance), Jack fumbles in picking up the phone. Davey’s never called him before—this could be a big step in their funny little relationship. 

“Davey?” Jack says, making his way out of the bedroom. He doesn’t want to wake up Crutchie. “Davey, hi, how’s it goin’?”

There is a long pause from the other end of the phone. A shaky breath, then, _“Jack? Something’s happened…last night and—you know what? It’s nothing, just—”_

“Woah, hey Davey no,” Jack interrupts, worry growing in the pit of his stomach. What the hell happened? “If something’s wrong, you can tell me. I got you.”

_“Okay…listen, can we come over? Les and I. I don’t want to be in this house any longer. It’s not safe and Les isn’t feeling too great today. Is that okay?”_

The worry only grows. Grows so much that Jack’s stomach aches with fear and confusion. “Course you can come over, Davey. Both of you’s. If it ain’t safe, pack your needs and get your butt over here right now. Do you want me to come and get you? We can walk together.”

_“No…no, it’s okay. We’re okay. Thank you, Jack.”_

“Anytime, Davey.”

~….~

The wait is long and terrifying. Jack has never felt so anxious before. He has resided to power cleaning the house, waking everyone up with his vacuuming and curses when he finds corners of the house that are piled with dust. The books (mostly bought by or for Specs, but Jack’s been inclined to pick one up every once in a while) have to be rearranged so that they look pleasing to the eye, and the smart ones about self improvement have to be on display.

When Race comes out of the room he shares with Albert and Specs, he does a double take. Jack is crouched under the table, wiping down the chair legs with excessive force.

“Jack?” Race ventures, looking around so that someone else could verify that he’s not dreaming. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Cleanin’,” Jack says.

“I can see that. Why?”

“Because—”

There’s a knock at the door. Jack jolts up, hitting his head against the underside of the table. He groans and falls forward, hands cupping his throbbing head.

Laughing, Race stumbles towards the door and opens it. His smile grows when he sees Davey and Les.

“Hiya, boys!” But his cheerful tone falters when he spots the tattered backpacks they both carry, and how Les is clutching onto Davey’s hand like it’s a lifeline, shaking and pale. “You alright?”

Jack rounds the corner, rubbing the back of his head. He takes one look at the boys outside and feels his body just melt with a strange mix of ease and worry. _They’re alive_ , his brain says with joy, _but they’re not okay._

“Come inside,” says Jack. He nudges Race away from the door and holds out his hand for Davey to take. Leading them inside the house, he adds, “Put your bags wherever you need. For as long as you’re here, it’s your place too.”

Davey musters up half a smile as he sets his backpack down next to the couch. He ushers Les to do the same, and they struggle through the process of slipping the straps off his arms without ever letting go of their hands. Les’s grip is iron-like and sweaty, slipping every now and again. Turning to Jack, Davey startles when he comes face-to-face with Race. Race and his narrowed eyes, twitching fingers, and jumping leg.

“You alright, Daves?” Race asks, eyes flitting around his face, then he looks down at Les, eyeing him for any visible signs of damage. “Somethin’ spooked ya? Did someone try to snag you both? Cause if they did, I’ll beat ‘em up for ya. Albert’s been wanting to throw some good punches for a coupl’a days.”

At first, Davey isn’t quite sure how to react. It’s a nice gesture, if you think about it, but he doesn’t really want Les thinking that throwing punches is the only way to solve a problem. “No one tried to _snag_ us. But, uh…someone broke in last night and—”

“Fuckin’ what?” Jack interrupts, waving in apology to Les for his foul mouth. “Davey, that’s—”

“Terrifying?” His chuckle is dry. “Yeah. The bat you gave me—I used it to, you know.” With one hand, he gestures the swinging of the bat.   
Jack doesn’t know how to describe all the emotions waging a war inside of him. Most of his is angry that someone would dare make Davey and Les so afraid. The rest of him is a mix of relief, sadness, and pure admiration. Davey must’ve been so scared last night, yet he picked up a baseball bat and beat a burglar out of his house. Without thinking, Jack leans forward and wraps Davey and Les in a big hug. It lasts a long time, much longer than normal hugs are supposed to, but neither of them mind. It feels safer here, wrapped in each other’s arms.

It’s Davey who pulls back first with a slight smile.

“You’re safe here, Davey,” says Jack, taking a step back. He shares a quick look with Race, who doesn’t look happy at all, mind reeling with the facts of last night. “It’s your house as long as you need it.”

~….~

“No.”

“Davey—”

“Jack, no.”

They’ve been at this for a while now, with Jack following Davey around the house like a lost puppy. Trying to convince to do something Davey takes a lot of work, Jack finds. Nothing is going smoothly except for maybe the fact that Jack can cast a lot more glances at Davey now that they’re living under the same roof.

Race laughs from where he’s got his arms thrown around Les’s shoulders, keeping him close and covered to feign the sense of safety. For the first time since last night, there was a hint of a smile on Les’s tired face, eyes following Davey around the house like he’s scared to look away.

“Davey, come on,” says Jack, leaning his hip against a kitchen counter. It’s unclear why Davey went to the kitchen, maybe to find some food to distract himself with or just because there was nowhere else to go. Even with Crutchie gone to see his girlfriend, and Albert and Specs off to the library to force themselves to do their homework (tough guy exterior be damned), it doesn’t feel like other rooms exits outside of the kitchen and the living room. “Just take the bed.”

“I can’t.” Davey crosses his arms over his chest.

Jack raises his eyebrows. “You _can._ ”

“I _won’t_. This is your house Jack; I’m not taking your bed.” Shaking his head, Davey wishes for this conversation to be over. If it all works out, Davey will take the couch while Les takes the bed with Jack and Crutchie. He certainly won’t kick Crutchie out of the bed, that’s the one thing he and Jack seem to agree on.

“Take the damn bed, Davey,” says Jack with a roll of his eyes.

But Davey is stubborn and shakes his head again. “I’ll sleep on the couch, and that’s it. No more puppy eyes.”

Jack doesn’t listen and, instead, hits Davey with the puppiest eyes he has ever seen. He pushes all of his power into convincing Davey to take the bed. It’s more comfortable and he’s probably still scared and would want to be surrounded by people instead of alone on the couch, right in view of the front door. Though…maybe Davey _wanted_ to see the door?

“Jack,” Davey sighs, and it’s enough to put Jack to shame. He stops his puppy eyes. “Sleep in your own bed. I’m fine taking the couch.”

Later that night, Davey learns to regret it. The couch isn’t the comfiest thing in the world, but it’s a whole world better than whatever Davey has back home. There are less lumps, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. With the wind howling outside, slipping through the poorly installed windows, Davey shivers beneath his blanket. He faces the front door, eyes trained on the doorknob. He knows, technically, that it would be a lot harder to break into a place like this. You’ve got to get through the café first, then climb up the stairs and break into the house here. But still, Davey watches with rapt attention, heart hammering against his chest.

Everything is a little too quiet for Davey’s tastes. Though the house is filled with more people than Davey could ever imagine fitting into such a small place, there sounds as though nobody lives here. Outside noises other than the window and the slamming of car doors don’t help the place feel lively.

At some point, Jack’s bedroom door opens and Les comes shuffling out. His eyes are always moving around, searching the dark apartment for any creeping strangers. When Davey opens his arms, Les goes diving into them, shoving his face into Davey’s neck. He wraps his own arms around Davey’s waist, snuggling in until he’s surrounded in warmth and an easing sense of comfort.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Davey asks quietly.

Les shrugs, tired and already falling asleep. “Don’t like you being alone. Can we sleep now?”

Laughing, Davey says, “Yeah, we can sleep now.” Though Davey can’t sleep, even when it’s been ten minutes and Les’s quiet snores fill the room.

It doesn’t take long for the bedroom door to open again, and for socked feet to shuffle their way into the living room. Davey isn’t sure what he was expecting, and he isn’t sure he was expecting anything, but seeing Jack dressed in baggy sweatpants, a tank top, and messy hair is certainly not what Davey had in mind. But he’s not complaining, let’s make that clear. If it were any other night, Davey would be drooling on site, but tonight feels a lot more sincere. Too sincere and kind and cold to drool about.

Jack shuffles on over to the couch after a moment’s hesitation. He lifts Davey’s legs and settles himself onto the couch, dropping Davey’s legs back down on either side of him. Their knees knock against each other’s, legs pressed flushed against the other. Neither of them knows what to say, so they both stay silent. Davey keeps his eyes on Les, who sleeps soundly against his chest. Jack looks between Davey and Les, not sure who he would rather keep his eyes on tonight. He settles on Davey’s face.

“Davey?” Jack asks, voice low and quiet, a gentle husk.

Keeping his eyes away from Jack’s distracting face, Davey hums in reply. “Hm?”

“How did…” Jack stops himself, bitting his lip. The question has been nagging at his brain for a while now, but he isn’t sure it’s a good question to ask. “It’s only you an’ the kid, right?”

“Yes,” says Davey, trying his hardest to keep the sadness from his tone, and hoping that he isn’t going to come across as cold. But somehow, when Jack asks, it’s not such a hard pill to swallow.

“Why? I mean, I think…I think I know why, but I was just wonderin’ how it’s only you two.”

It’s hard to forget. The night often represents itself in Davey’s dreams—nightmares, more like—every week, making him loose valuable sleep. To ignore the painful memories, Davey has pushed himself into schooling and into his jobs. Into making sure Les has a good, normal life from here on out. He isn’t so sure it’s working.

“We were celebrating Passover—or we were preparing for it, actually.” There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips as he remembers all the Passover’s he used to celebrate with his family. “Our mom didn’t have the things she needed to make the challah, so I offered to take Les down to the store. I don’t…nobody ever told me what actually happened. But, when we came home, everything was on fire. The firefighters were there, but it was too late—we already saw the flames. I’ve always said it was a gas leak, but it’s just a guess.”

Tears spring to Davey’s eyes, but he pushes them back. He’s sad about it still, and he will be for the rest of his life, but it’s time to let the wound ache, but not hurt. He needs to move on, if not for his sake, for Les’s.

Jack places a hand on Davey’s knee, and it’s warm against Davey’s cool pajama bottoms. The warmth seeps into Davey’s skin, and he lets out a breath. It’s comforting, having Jack here to listen to his troubles.

“Davey, that’s horrible. I’m sorry,” he says softly, but there’s a distinct lack of pity in his voice that Davey melts into.

“Not much that can be done anymore, but thanks.” Davey lifts his eyes to look into Jack’s, and it feels like the world stops, just for a moment. Just for them. “We’ve only just gotten good, you know. It’s taken us four years to be okay with only having each other. And now, after last night, I think…it’ll be harder for it to _not_ be just the two of us.”

Jack nods along, jaw clenching at the mention of last night. He wishes he were there, or that he could have helped more today. But what was he to do? What _is_ he to do now, other than offer his home and open his arm to the boys in need?

“Well, Davey,” he starts, hoping it sounds less sad than he feels. “It don’t gotta be just the two of you no more. You’ve got Katherine Pulitzer, you’ve got Race, Crutchie—hell, even Specs and Albert are your family now. And y’know, on the plus side, you got me, too.” Jack smiles, something crooked and small, but honest.

Davey laughs a little, for the first time that night. He smooths a hand over Les’s hair when he starts to squirm, but his eyes never leave Jack’s face. He takes in a lot of him that nice—the cut of his jaw, the curve and curl of his lips, his dark lashes and the way his eyes shine even in the dark. And he thinks, even if he won’t have this face forever, he will at least have it for tonight.

“I think I can deal with having you around,” Davey says, which means a lot more to him than he thought it would.

“Is that so?” Jack’s responding smile is bigger this time, full of teeth and bunched cheeks. “I’ll stick around for as long as you like, Davey Jacobs.”

They fall asleep like that, legs tangled and touching, with Jack’s hand on Davey’s knee. It’s warm and it’s comforting. That night, the Jacobs boys don’t have any nightmares, knowing that a safety net has been thrown around them by the one and only Jack Kelly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute since I last poster, and I'm sorry about that! I've had a couple of mental blocks recently and midterms are on the prowl, so I've been busy.
> 
> I know this chapter is pretty short, but it's the best I could come up with at the moment. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and thank you for reading and sticking around. I appreciate you all :)


	9. Chapter 9

In the morning, Davey doesn’t know where he is. It’s not his house—thank God—but…he’s never been here before. Les is sleeping on his chest and, when Davey looks up, he finds Jack asleep on the other end of the couch. Everything comes rushing back to him. He and Les had basically run all the way to Jack’s house yesterday morning, wanting to get as far away from their house as possible. And then they had calmed down a little, sank into the comfort of a small house filled with friends, and fallen asleep quickly.

Looking at Jack, Davey recounts their late-night conversation. How Jack was the second person to get the full story, after Katherine of course. How Jack was nothing but sweet and understanding. How Davey, now, sits with their legs tangled just staring at Jack while he sleeps.

It should be creepy. Davey feels a little creepy, but Jack looks so at ease and peaceful that it’s hard _not_ to stare.

Shifting around on the couch, Davey hears a bedroom door open and close. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time and— _shit_ , he’s going to be late for school. He’s in the middle of trying to gently put Les on the couch when Race enters the living room, tired but dressed.

“Mornin’ Davey,” Race mumbles with such a lack of his usual gusto that it makes Davey do a double take.

“Good morning, Race,” says Davey. He smooths back Les’s hair once he sets him down on the couch then rights himself. If he doesn’t leave soon, he’s going to miss his first class. “Do you have classes today?”

Race grunts as he puts on his shoes. “Yeah. Whoever said that early mornin’ classes should be a thing needs their dick to be chopped off.”

Davey laughs. Puttering around the room, he slings his backpack over his shoulder and joins Race in putting on his shoes. It’s nice to be with Race like this—quiet, normal and calm. Like they used to be back when they were kids and sleepovers were a frequent occurrence. They would wake up in the mornings, groggy and at a loss for words, and just sit on the couch watching TV. It was always fun being together, and Davey didn’t know how much he missed it until he found Race again.

“Shouldn’t Jack be up?” Davey asks once his shoes are tied.

Race shrugs. “Specs and Crutchie are already downstairs openin' up. Jack can get there whenever he wants.”

Davey doesn’t argue that, mostly because Les is sitting up on the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Going to his side immediately, Davey smiles at his brother and his stomach churns at the idea of leaving him alone.

“David?” Les mutters tiredly.

“Hey, Les,” Davey whispers. “How are you feeling?”

Les frowns and asks, “Are you leaving?”

“I have to get to class,” Davey explains patiently. He knows Les isn’t going to be happy.

“But…you’re traumatized.”

Despite himself, Davey laughs a little. He shakes his head. “I’m not traumatized, Les. Just a little freaked, okay? But you’re not going to school today—or for however long it takes to make sure you’re okay. Okay?”

Les’s frown deepens. “I’m gonna be alone?”

From the door, Race makes a show of flipping off his shoes as he says, “I’ll skip class for ya, Les.”

Davey sends him a sharp look. “No you will not. Put your shoes back on.”

Race puts his shoes back on. “Jeez, mama, I was only jokin'.”

Ignoring him, Davey looks back at Les and says, “Jack will be with you today. You can help him out at the café. Listen, I have to go or I’ll be late. Have fun and be good.”

Les nods and shuffles his way closer to Jack, who continues to sleep with a crooked neck. At the very least, Les will have at least one person to keep him protected and safe feeling while Davey is gone. And Davey…he’ll be gone for a while. School and then both of his jobs come after it today, so maybe Davey will have to really make it up to Les in the future. Make their next Sunday better.

When Davey leaves, he tries not to feel too bad about it. Race had given Les some tips on how to wake Jack up ( _“jump on ‘im if you need to, kid. He won’t mind.”_ and _“If you slap him hard enough, he’ll be up in seconds.”_ ) He and Race talk the whole walk to NYU, mostly about the ‘good ol’ days’ and how much time they lost out on. Race talks about how he met Jack through the racetracks (hence the name) and how he and Albert have been running around the streets for years now. And Davey listens, because he’s always been good at listening, and he gets into step with Race’s constant topic switches. His brain moves quickly, and his mouth doesn’t catch up in time, but Davey doesn’t mind. It’s nice to hear him be so lively.

Class moves quick, but it also moves slowly. He sits with Katherine for a couple of his classes, and they whisper in the corner of the room while forgetting to pay complete attention to the lecture. He passes Race in the hallways, and he finally notices his old friend instead of brushing him off as a mirage. They wave to each other and, if Davey is running from one class to another, they stop to chat.

Before his first shift, Davey runs back to Medda’s café and checks in on Jack and Les. He makes sure Les has been well taken care of, that he’s okay and doesn’t need Davey to call in sick to work, which he has never done before. Even when sick, Davey downplays it and suffers through his shifts, sniffling and hiding his coughs in the neck of his shirt. He stops to talk to Jack for a moment, and a pastry is forced into his hand, free of charge. Davey eats it and only realizes then that he missed breakfast.

He rushes himself through his first shift, counting down the hours until his next one. At least in his next shift, he gets to hang out with Katherine. He has a lot of things he wants to talk about with her that he couldn’t get the nerve to bring up at school. The people are insufferable today, but at least he gets paid and, when he runs out of work, the others don’t judge him anymore. It’s happened too often now.

Katherine is already at work by the time Davey runs into the locker room. He quickly changes into his uniform and puts himself next to Katherine by the front door.

“Evening, Jacobs,” says Katherine with a smile. She straightens out her uniform and eyes the door, waiting for customers to come in. It’s eight o’clock, so people aren’t going to be rushing in like they do for lunch, but they get the occasional late-night stragglers looking for dinner. “Had a good day?”

Davey shrugs. “Haven’t had a good past few days, honestly.”

Davey gives Katherine the recap of his weekend, which makes his hands shake a little, but Katherine gathers them in her own and helps him through the story. At the end, she smiles and pats Davey’s hand, and there’s no sense of pity on her face, only concern for her friend. It sooths Davey’s beating heart.

“That’s shitty, David,” Katherine says. “Are you and Les okay now? Do you need to stay at my place for a while? I know you don’t like my dad, but I could always just sneak you in. He wouldn’t have to know—”

“It’s fine, Katherine,” Davey says with a small laugh. It’s not that Davey doesn’t _like_ Mr. Pulitzer (which he doesn’t) but he’s a very scary old man that made Les cry once. Davey has never forgiven him for that. “We’re staying with a…friend.”

Katherine raises her eyebrows. “A _friend_? You said that weirdly. Is it the guy who called me a ‘sugar mama’?”

“Technically, yes, but”—Davey holds up his hands and tries to piece his words together— “I’m talking about his roommate. One roommate out of the other four.”

“You’re living with five other people?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s a lot of people, David.”

“Okay, but one of them is really cute and, you know…I’m going to need you to talk me out of something,” Davey explains, hoping Katherine understands.

Rolling her shoulders as if preparing for battle, Katherine asks, “Why would I talk you out of something?”

“Because,” Davey stresses, maybe a little overdramatic. “I am living with a cute guy who gets along with me really well, and he’s really good with Les, who _loves_ him by the way, and I almost, kind of, _maybe_ want to kiss him and I don’t have time for this. Talk me out of it.”

Laughing, Katherine says, “Why in the world would I talk you out of getting a boyfriend, David?”

“I don’t have the time,” Davey says again. “And I’m stressed all the time. I’d be a terrible boyfriend, and he deserves a great boyfriend. I can’t…I don’t want to waste my time on something when I need to be supporting Les.”

A customer comes into the restaurant. Katherine and Davey spin to them and plaster on brilliant smiles, helping the happy couple with finding a table and figuring out the menu. Davey stays by the door, watching Katherine as she works. She’s a natural at this kind of stuff, though sometimes her tongue gets her into trouble with rude customers. But the managers can’t fire her because of her dad, but Davey likes to think it’s also because they appreciate her tongue-in-cheek tactic of serving.

When Katherine joins Davey back at the door, she says, “David, you wouldn’t be wasting your time. It’s just living life. And if you think you’d want to date him, then obviously you think he would understand that you’re busy supporting your brother _and_ your own education. Don’t forget about yourself, David, okay?”

“Kath—”

“No, I’m not done.” She holds up a hand. “Love is worth wasting your time on, David. Don’t be scared to go after it.”

~….~

When Davey gets home, he tries not to show the exhaustion on his face. Or the big knot that has tied itself up in his guts. The talk with Katherine, while not what he was hoping for, was helpful. To a certain extent. Davey still isn’t sure if he should go after this thing between him and Jack, but he’s trying to figure it out. Trying to figure out if he has the time or the effort or the brain space to be a good boyfriend. And, even if he _could_ be a good boyfriend, his entire heart and all of his motivations are taken over by Les and his wellbeing. If he can’t focus every bit of him on making sure his little brother can grow up the way the other kids do, how is he supposed to be a good brother?

Jack is sitting on the couch when he gets home, watching TV at a low volume. He looks over when the door opens, and he smiles at Davey.

“Hey, Davey,” he says, voice as low as the TV. “How was your day?”

It’s feels sickly domestic, just him and Jack by the TV, waiting up for him to get back from work. Nobody else is around, even though he knows everyone sits behind the walls. He wonders where Les is but puts it aside hesitantly. He’s safe, he has to be, and is probably hanging out with Race and Albert.

“It was…long,” Davey admits, sighing as he takes off his shoes. “I’m ready to just go to bed, but I have notes to do.”

Jack nods his head. Then, he jumps off the couch and turns off the TV. “Hey, go say hi to Les and then meet me on the roof. Bring your notes.” He disappears out the front door, passing by Davey’s side with a quick squeeze of his wrist.

Confused, Davey lets his feet guide his way around the flat. He finds Les in Race, Albert, and Specs room, where he sits on the bed surrounded by all the boys. Crutchie is there, too, laughing along with the other boys as Albert and Les play rock-paper-scissors. When Davey makes himself known, Albert turns on him with mild rage with which he means no harm.

“You!” he yells. “What’d ya teach the kid, huh? You teachin’ ‘im how to cheat at games? Alls I wanna do is win one game. One!”

Davey laughs and comes over to ruffle Les’s hair. “I only taught him statistics and math, Albert. If you want, I can teach it to you, too.”

Albert rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, throwing himself back onto the bed. “Ah, forget it. My brain ain’t made for math.”

“It ain’t made for anythin’,” Race jokes.

“Hey you asshole, I could beat the brains outta you. Watch your mouth,” Albert spits back, jumping over to push at Race’s shoulder. It sparks a wrestling match, which Crutchie rolls away from all while shoving at their backs with a smile.

Davey takes his leave after a quick check-in with Les. He picks up his notebooks and textbooks and a couple pens and makes his way to the roof. The stairs are out back behind Medda’s café, thin and metal like a fire escape.

The view is gorgeous. A brilliant overview of the city with the stars shinning brightly above them. And there’s Jack, sitting on the ledge with a blanket around his shoulders, silhouetted against the sky. He looks back when Davey steps on the roof, and his smile is warm and soft, and it makes Davey’s knees weak. This was a horrible idea, but its also the best idea Davey has ever seen.

Jack pats the spot beside him and opens up the blanket. “C’mere.”

And Davey goes without hesitation, sitting down beside Jack and being embraced by the warmth of the large blanket. They sit shoulder-to-shoulder, body heat pressing against body heat and warming the blanket even more. Davey has his notebooks and textbooks in his lap, pens twirling between his fingers, but all of his attention is focused on Jack. It’s hard to keep his mind focused on anything else, really, because Jack is so close and so warm and he’s just very, very pretty.

“You’re good?” Jack asks, tilting his head to catch Davey’s eye. “Like, warm and everything?”

“Yeah,” says Davey, clearing his throat and looking down at his notebooks. “I’m good.”

They listen to the sounds of cars down on the road, zooming beneath their feet. Davey flips open the front page of his textbook lazily, unsure of how he’s supposed to focus on his notes when Jack is so close to him. All he can think about is his talk with Katherine and how much he wants to do something about…everything.

“How was Les?” Davey asks, trying to break through the quiet mood they have set for the night. He should be sleeping—they should both be sleeping, but it’s too late to go back downstairs.

Jack smiles and nudges Davey’s side with his elbow. “Ah, the kid’s always great. You raised a good kid, there, Davey. He helped me behind the register today—sold a ton o’ shit with that big smile of ‘is. Played the poor orphaned boy card for tips.”

Snapping his neck with how fast he looks over at Jack, Davey almost bites off his tongue. He’s never been this close to Jack before, their noses just a hairs breadth apart. He swallows. “He did _what?_ ”

“Hey, don’t worry.” Jack smiles teasingly. “Crutchie plays the cripple card all the time. Nobody cares.”

“You’re teaching him bad things, Jack,” Davey argues, but he’s starting to care less and less. At least he’s safe and with people he likes and has fun with. He hasn’t seen Les this happy since their parents died. Not even the friends at school have been able to make Les smile so much.

Jack shrugs and throws his arm around Davey’s shoulder. The blanket falls, and Davey readjusts it with a flush taking up space on his cheeks. He’s never…it’s been a while since someone has touched him so casually yet with so much feeling behind it. 

“As long as you’re teachin’ ‘im the good stuff, I can keep teachin’ ‘im the bad stuff.” He knocks the side of his head against Davey’s then nods to the open textbook in Davey’s lap. “What’s that, anyway? Looks dumb.”

“It’s critical theory.”

“Right…what’s that for?”

“My English degree.”

“Cool.” Jack makes a weird noise at the back of his throat. “I don’t mean t’be rude, but your degree sounds boring.”

Davey gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest, pens clicking against his shirt. Before he even opens his mouth, Jack is laughing right in his ear, and it sounds beautiful. “That’s very rude of you, Jack. How _dare_ you? I trust you with my baby brother and this is how you repay me? I think I might just have to pack up our stuff—”

Jack stops laughing, giggling softly instead as he rallies back, “Hey, c’mon, you ain’t gotta do that.”

“—and head out to live with Katherine. She won’t make fun of me the way you do.”

Jack blinks. “That sounds like a lie.”

“It is a lie,” says Davey with a laugh. “She makes fun of me all the time. You’d probably get along.”

Shrugging, he catches Davey’s eye and says, “I’m happy getting’ along with you.”

Davey swallows, and it’s hard to keep eye contact with Jack looking at him like that—like he’s something precious and worth staring at. He’s never been looked at like that before, and his stomach ties up in knots and those stupid little lovesick butterflies are fluttering about angrily in his chest. His eyes flick down to Jack’s lips, pink and just as pretty as the rest of him. He catches Jack’s eyes again and they, too, flicker down. It’s a slow tilt towards each other, and their foreheads knock against one another. Davey can feel the hot breath against his lips, can barely just feel the brush of lips against his own, and—

Someone clambers up the stairs, feet slapping against the metal steps loud enough to make Davey jump and his eyes fly open. When did he even close them?

“Yo!” It’s Race, because of course it is. His head pops over the roof’s ledge. “Les wants to go to sleep an’…oh.”

He takes notice of how close Jack and Davey are, how they aren’t looking anywhere but at each other, eyes wide.

“Shit,” says Race, shaking his head. “Did I just fuck up a moment? Ah, y’know what? Les wants to go to bed, and he won’t sleep unless Davey’s with ‘im. Moment’s over. Sorry. Get your asse’s downstairs.”

With that, Race disappears again, clambering his way down the stairs just as loudly as he came. Despite himself, Davey laughs. He looks away and throws the blanket off his shoulder, textbooks pressed against the heat of his palm. For a moment, Jack just stares at him, incredulous. Then, he joins in the laughter and stands from the ledge. Gathering the blanket up, he bunches it between his arm and his waist and sticks out his free hand to Davey.

“C’mon,” he says quietly, that sweet, soft smile stuck on his face. “Can’t keep Les waitin’.”

Davey smiles, and it has never felt so real. He takes Jack’s hand and, together, they walk back into the flat. And this time, it feels little bit like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies, gents, and my nonbinary loves! Here is the ninth chapter. I hope you guys liked it. It got a little romance-y, didn't it? Don't worry guys, it only goes up from here...or does it? Lol who knows. 
> 
> But yeah, I do hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, it was fun to write! And I love you all for commenting and giving kudos, it keeps me motivated just knowing you guys are enjoying this. Hope you all have a good day, night, and following week, and I will see you in the next update.
> 
> :)


	10. Chapter 10

Race’s classes had ended a good five minutes ago, but he stays at school to wander a little bit. Also, he told Davey he’d wait up for him before heading back to the café. Unfortunately for him, Davey’s classes don’t end for another twenty minutes, so now he’s got nothing better to do than look like the juvenile delinquent all authority figures want him to be. No matter how hard he tries (which isn’t very hard at all) people still peg him as some kind of _‘I’m poor and bored so I’ll vandalize some shit’_ kind of guy. Which, fine, whatever—he used to do that shit all the time once Davey disappeared until Jack found him and made him stop. But now Race can properly blame Davey for his delinquent duties, considering Davey used to be 90% of his impulse control.

Not to mention Race’s cigarettes, which take up a permanent residence between his lips. He should start making them pay rent. But he doesn’t light them when he’s on school grounds, can’t even pull them out of his pocket for more than a second before some school official is on his ass about school rules and health hazards.

As Race kicks at the ground at the solid ground beneath his feet, he doesn’t notice when Katherine Pulitzer comes up behind him. It takes until she puts a hand on his elbow for him to spin around, ready for either a fight or flight situation. When he notices Katherine’s face, he lowers his defences—only because Davey trusts her. Race isn’t in the habit of trusting rich people without proof of their heart of gold not being fuelled by other people’s sweat.

“Anthony ‘Racetrack’ Higgins,” says Katherine happily, yet somehow her tone is eerie with knowledge and hidden secrets.

Race takes his elbow out of her grip and frowns, trying not to look too uncomfortable. “How the hell d’you know my name?”

“I know many things, Race.” Fixing the strap of her leather satchel, which makes her look like she should be at Oxford or something, not NYU, Katherine fixes Race with a clean look. “Like, for example, that a certain David ‘I’d-rather-die-than-get-a-full-night-of-sleep’ Jacobs has a crush on…someone.”

She’s got a good point, on both facts.  
“What?” Race asks with a small laugh. “You don’t know this crush’s name?”  
“I’m pretty sure David told me yesterday, but I can’t remember. All I know is he’s this cute barista who David is now living with. And living with you, too.”

Inside his pocket, Race thumbs at his packet of cigarettes. Sure, he knows that Katherine is a friend of Davey’s and sure, he knows he shouldn’t feel too uncomfortable with someone knowing something as basic as his roommates' names (which she doesn’t know all of them, thank whatever asshole sits in the sky), but he can’t help the nerves that creep into his fingers and make them itch.

Race says, “So Davey’s got a fat crush on Jack. What’s it to ya?”

“David’s happiness,” says Katherine with a fierceness Race wasn’t expecting. She smooths her features into something softer, back into her keenness she wears so swell. She says again, “All I want is David to be happy. And I think this Jack can do it. So, are in you in?”

Blinking, Race feels like he missed something. But he’s sure he hasn’t because he’s never focused himself so intensely on a conversation in his life. Except for maybe that time when Albert was pleading his case about eating the last donut. “In on what?”

“The plan.”

“Katherine Pulitzer, you ain’t told me no plan.”

Katherine pauses, mouth half-open in protest. She takes a moment to think back on their conversation, running it through that pretty head of hers before she closes her mouth and nods. Again, she fixes her leather satchel, then smooths down the plies in her skirt. “Right. Sorry. I just got so excited about my masterplan that I forget to tell you about it. So…I was thinking we could both ask the boys to dinner on Saturday night—you ask Jack, I ask Davey. Let’s say seven. Neither of us shows up, leaving Jack and Davey to have a surprise date. Am I brilliant or what?”

With laughter catching in his throat, Race takes his hand out of his pocket and runs it over his jaw. “That’s your masterplan?”

“This is the part where you tell me I’m brilliant.”

“Nah.” Race shakes his head. He notices the twitch of Katherine’s smile and is glad she’s not serious about any of this ‘brilliant’ nonsense. Cause it’s not brilliant, the plan, that is. It’s the most simple, rom-com plan Race has ever heard. But he knows it’ll work because both of his friends are idiots and idiots with crushes on other idiots will fall for anything. “But I’m in on the plan. Saturday?”

Katherine’s smile is brilliant, Race will give her that. She bounces on the balls of her feet once, then reclaims her composure. Sticking out a hand to Race, her watching catching against the fluorescent lights, she offers her partnership and her friendship. Race hesitates, barely, before clutching her hand and giving it a proper shake.

“Saturday,” Katherine agrees.

~….~

Saturday comes quick, like a bullet train in Japan. Jack hasn’t been out in a while, not on a genuine weekend night for something fun to do with the boys. Or, rather, one boy. Race had said something the other night about getting some food then screwing around down by the docks (which Jack thinks is an excuse to go and visit that weird guy named after some dog). Jack, without wanting to waste away his Saturday on his couch, agreed instantly. It was even better that Les had gotten more comfortable this past week with being inside the flat without Davey nearby, or even Jack by his side. He could hang out with Crutchie, Albert, and Specs and be okay.

Though, if Jack were being honest, he kind of wanted to hang out with Davey tonight. He’d be home already, his shift ended less than an hour ago, and probably looked really cute in some borrowed sweatpants and a hoodie. Even as Jack wants to turn around and rush home, he forces himself to stay on track. He can’t let Race down, not tonight. It’s been too long since they’ve had a boy’s night.

The restaurant isn’t something Jack would’ve picked. It isn’t something Race would’ve picked, either, which makes Jack confused. Why the hell is he outside a five-star restaurant? He isn’t dressed for this, instead picturing a burger joint or a hot dog stand, not something where a suit is considered casual wear. Looking around, Jack tries to find Race hiding in the bushes, ready to burst out and yell ‘surprise!’. But Race never jumps out of any bushes, no matter how long Jack stares at a particularly rustle-y one.

Sucking it up, Jack enters the restaurant. He greets the hostess with a smile.

“For uh…” Jack blanks, not sure if Race would’ve made a reservation or not. And if he did, what name did he use? “…Race?”

The hostess smiles, slipping her fingers beneath a smooth menu. “Reservations for Race Higgins?”

“Sure.”

The hostess leads Jack towards the back of the restaurant. He passes by a lot of well-dressed couples, and some of them do double-takes as he walks by. Now, Jack has rarely ever felt insecure about his clothes, but something about this environment is making him feel bad that he isn’t a rich man who can just hang out in his mansion all day or wear suits when he has nowhere to go.

When at the back of the restaurant, the hostess stops near a secluded booth. One of those booths that are hidden behind walls and pieces of silk acting as the doors. Suddenly, Jack thinks Race is about to kill him. Maybe he’s had enough of Jack’s shit and is finally ready to do the deed. Maybe he’s found out that Davey is a much better friend than Jack could ever be so this is some kind of elaborate friendship break-up. Maybe Race is just messing around and taking Jack out on a date for funsies.

Jack thanks the hostess and takes his menu from her well-manicured hands. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, but he’s never been in a place like this before and something tells him that whatever he meets behind that silk curtain isn’t going to be pretty. Reaching out, he pulls back the curtain and—oh. Jack stands by what he said: whatever is behind this curtain is _beautiful._

Seated on one side of the small table, cushioned by a velvet booth, is Davey. He is dressed semi-formally, and he really, really looks nice in a button-down. Especially when a couple of the buttons are undone, giving a glimpse of skin and collarbone. Jack should focus on other things—like why the hell Davey is sitting in the booth, or how nice Davey’s hair looks tonight, or how wide his eyes get when he’s both surprised and confused. But Jack would much rather focus on that glimpse of skin and collarbone.

“Jack?” Davey’s voice is hesitant like he thinks this is some kind of setup for a big prank. Which…isn’t too far off. “What are you doing here?”

Snapping out of his daze, Jack looks to Davey and tries to smile despite his instinct to frown. Frowning would throw off his game and give away to the increasingly rapid beating of his heart. He slides into the opposite velvet seat and says, “Meetin’ Race for dinner. What’re you doin’ here?”

Davey’s words come out through tight teeth. “Meeting Katherine for dinner. It’s a little fancy for Race, don’t you think?”

“Probably why he blew me off,” says Jack. He starts to flip through the menu, hoping to keep this night from getting weird. This is exactly what he wanted the first time he set eyes on Davey—a nice dinner-date. But Jack isn’t sure that he can even call this a date. He doesn’t even know if Davey would _want_ this to be a date. Sure, there was that moment on the rooftop where they almost kissed, and Jack will die being angry at Race for messing that up, but was Davey even aware he was doing it? “But y’know…you’re here, I’m here, they aren’t. Would you like to have dinner with me at a stupidly expensive restaurant that we both can’t afford?”

Davey smiles through his laughter, and it’s just such a wonderful sight that Jack forgets how to form coherent thoughts.

“Yes,” says Davey, thumbing at his own menu. “I’d love to have dinner with you, Jack.”

On any other occasion, Jack would play it cool and casual, maybe flirt a little and make it feel heavy. Instead, he nearly chokes on a strange, happy laugh he doesn’t want Davey to hear. It’ll make him sound like a loser. He swallows down the weird laugh and avoids Davey’s eyes, overcomes with potential embarrassment and self-loathing for his stupid, stupid self.

To ease the mood, Jack clears his throat and says, “How was work?”

Davey rolls his eyes, which makes Jack laugh, and then drops into a whole rant about how work absolutely _sucked_ today. As he rants, surprisingly calm in tone despite the obvious irritation that falls off of him in waves, Davey checks out the menu while Jack checks out Davey.

With his open shirt and his effortlessly swept dark hair, strands falling into his eyes, Davey is a sight to behold. His green-brown eyes jump around the menu as he talks, lips wrapping around every syllable like they were made to be said by him. Jack has been surrounded by a lot of guys who don’t speak the way society taught them to, so he has become accustomed to the hanging off of ‘g’s and slurring their words together to make their sentences come out quicker. But with Davey, he takes his time to make sure every word sounds as it should, and he says all that he means to say.

It amazes Jack that someone can speak so eloquently when annoyed. Then again, he would love to hear Davey speak as the boys do back home. It surely would be something to stick around for.

When the waitress comes around, asking them for their orders, Davey goes last. Jack orders in an instant, not looking at the food prices because, though it is expensive, this will be Jack’s treat. And yeah, maybe it’ll hurt his pockets, but his pockets can take a little beating from time to time. He knows Davey’s can’t. 

“All of this is so expensive,” Davey laughs, though his tone edges on uncomfortable.

The waitress laughs with him, playing with her pad and pencil. “Yeah, they amp up the prices twice a year. It’s a whole marketing thing. But you guys don’t have to worry about prices tonight. It’s all paid for.”

Jack and Davey share a look.

“What do you mean?” Davey asks, setting down his menu. He’s made up his mind, but now he’s suspicious.

“Miss Pulitzer already paid for your meals,” answers the waitress with a smile. “Whatever you would like tonight, it’s on her.”

Davey finally orders and only when the waitress has left does he turn to Jack and say, “This was a set-up.”

“You just got that?” Jack laughs wholeheartedly, fingers tapping on the underside of the table. He wonders how Davey will respond to his set-up maybe-date. Will he run away, or will he enjoy it? Will this be the start of something? Jack would hope that it is. He’s been wanting this for weeks now.

“I can’t believe it.” Shaking his head, Davey bites his lip while he pieces it all together. Jack’s eyes follow the movement. If he had the courage, he would jump over this table and kiss him silly. But he’s a coward when it comes to David Jacobs and there is nothing he can do about it. “Katherine and Race just…masterminded us.”

“This is a mastermind?” Jack asks.

Davey nods. “Of course, it is. Katherine’s brilliant.”

“Of course, she is.”

After dinner, Jack takes Davey down to the docks for a walk. The night is still young, and Jack isn’t ready to leave his side yet. Their dinner was really nice. Just being able to talk to Davey and focus solely on Davey was something Jack hadn’t realized how much he wanted. And the way Davey listens to him talk is amazing. The other boys…they try to listen, but it never works. Race has trouble listening or even paying attention for long enough, and Albert really doesn’t care most of the time. Specs is too busy sticking his head either into his schoolwork or baking to listen properly, and Crutchie’s head is always filled with his girlfriend that he refuses to think about anything else.

But Davey listens. He listens so intently that it makes Jack feel so stupidly important. Like, if he left tomorrow, it would matter. And Davey _loves_ eye-contact, which is something Jack wasn’t prepared for, but it’s fine because it gives him an excuse to stare at Davey’s eyes.

“You know,” Davey starts, head tilted back to look at the moon. “For such an expensive dinner, I was expecting the food to be better.”

Jack’s laugh is unexpected. He nearly falls off the dock, feet twisting on the edge of the wooden planks. Davey rushes over and wraps an arm around Jack’s waist, pulling him back onto the dock. Pressed chest-to-chest, Jack loses his breath. His heartbeat thuds against his chest and he might be imagining it, but he swears he can feel Davey’s heartbeat, too. Up close and personal, Davey is even more beautiful. Jack could stay like this forever.

“Jack?” says Davey quietly, voice almost being carried away by the wind.

Jack swallows, eyes flicking down to Davey’s lips. “Davey.”

The night is warm enough for there to be no excuse for Davey’s red cheeks, and Jack likes to think he has a real shot at being the one to steal Davey’s heart tonight. The arm around Jack’s waist is secure, heavy and warm and it fits so well against the curve of his back and the jut of his hips. He can feel the warmth of Davey’s breath against the tip of his nose, the top of his lip.

Davey clears his throat and pulls back, his arm slipping from Jack’s waist. The air between them is nearly awkward, but Jack will be damned if he lets it become that. Not between them, no matter what. “Be careful. The water’s cold.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say. “I can’t swim.”

“Oh.” Davey swallows, and it sounds dry. He looks to the water, then back to Jack, and his eyes are calculating. Jack misses when they were open and warm, but he also just misses when Davey had his arm around him, and he felt safe and warm. “I’d catch you if you fell again. Or I’d jump in after you…just so you know.”

For a moment, Jack thinks that, finally, this is it. This is the moment he jumps forward and smacks a big ol’ kiss on Davey’s lips. This is the moment because Davey looks so cute with his hands shoved deep in his pant pockets, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and the flush of his cheeks mixed with the softly blown wisps of his hair. Everything feels perfect for a date—a _first_ date, albeit accidentally—but Jack isn’t going to be the one to blow it. Davey’s nervous and unsure, and he should be the one to initiate something.

There are boundaries Jack doesn’t want to overstep.

Jack takes to walking, slowly, back up the dock. They should probably head home now—Les would want to say goodnight to Davey. It’s been their routine recently: Davey gets home as early as his schedule allows, and he tucks Les into Jack and Crutchie’s bed only to wake up sharing the couch with the kid. Jack doesn’t know why Davey bothers tucking the kid in when they all know how the night will end.

A few steps away, when Jack starts coming to terms with the fact that this night isn’t ending the way he pictured (which is fine, really it is, he’s cool), Davey calls out his name. Immediately, Jack stops. The wind presses against his cheeks and makes his hands shake. Or maybe it’s the emotions coursing through him. Or maybe he’s actually really cold and doesn’t know it.

“Jack,” Davey says again, and his voice shakes before he takes a deep, shuddering breath. A hand grips Jack’s wrist, fingers hot to the touch, and Jack is spun around and pulled back towards Davey. Without hesitation, Davey dips his head and kisses Jack with a softness he wasn’t prepared for.

Jack’s response is immediate. He cups Davey’s face and leans into the kiss, making sure he pushes as many emotions and thoughts and wishes into the kiss as he can. When Davey wraps his arms around Jack’s waist, pulling him in as close as he can be, Jack melts. He feels safe and warm and protected in Davey’s arms, and the kiss is just how he pictured it would be—soft, warm, and oh so good.

When they break apart, Davey’s eyes are closed, and his cheeks are even more flushed than before. Jack can feel the heat of them against the pads of his thumbs. Still so close together, Jack likes to believe their hearts beat in sync.

“You’re beautiful,” Jack says, voice as soft as the wind. He can’t help it.

Davey’s eyes fly open. Rolling them, he unwraps his arms from Jack’s back and pushes at his shoulder, making him stumble. “Shut up, Jack.”

“’m only bein’ honest.”

“You’re being cheesy.”

Jack shrugs. “I’ll be cheesy for you as long as you keep kissin’ me.”

“That’s a long time to be cheesy,” says Davey, only a little shy. Gaining confidence from the cool breeze and Jack’s growing smile.

Heart fluttering in his chest and feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush, Jack beats down the urge to kick at the ground and maybe giggle. “Oh, yeah?”

Davey steps back toward Jack, arms reaching out to snake back along the curve of Jack’s waist, fitting effortlessly, as though they have always belonged there. “Yeah, I think so.”

Jack smiles and picks a hair off of Davey’s shoulder, then lets his fingers rest on its curve. “Whatever you say, Davey.”

Leaning back in for another kiss, Jack knows he could stay there all night and nothing would ever feel as perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading! I hope you all liked this chapter, I had a lot of fun writing it. And I was super excited to finally write the kiss scene since I kinda teased y'all in the last chapter.
> 
> Hopefully, you all enjoyed it, and sorry again it's kind of a late upload, but I've got a lot of things to do in my real life and my real, original content and characters book and screenwriting to do lol.
> 
> But yes, I love you all and can't wait to see you guys in the next chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

The night is still young, and Davey thinks it could be young forever. He and Jack are on their way home from their…date? Davey likes to think it was a date. Plus, considering they kissed just a couple of minutes ago, Davey is on the right train for this being a romantic thing.

On their walk home, Jack keeps pulling Davey aside, hiding within the shadows to press a kiss against his lips. Sometimes, when they pass by an alleyway, Jack will grasp onto Davey’s wrist and pull him into the alleyway and gently press him against the wall. Dipping his head down, Davey meets Jack in the middle, arms instinctively wrapping around Jack’s waist and pulling him in close. Now that he knows what it’s like to have Jack’s chest press against his, he never wants to forget it.

“We have to get back,” Davey whispers against Jack’s lips. He’s not brave enough to nip at them, to tease a little, but he lets his eyes linger long enough to make Jack shiver. “Les will be waiting up.”

Jack shrugs, but his smile is soft as he lifts his eyes to lock onto Davey’s. He waits a moment, then says, “Ain’t like he got school tomorrow.”

“Jack,” Davey laughs out, pinching at Jack’s lower back. He yelps, jumping back and away from Davey, who immediately misses the warmth. “Come on, let’s get back.”

Walking out of the alleyway, Davey almost feels a flush of embarrassment. Nobody is outside—no one is waiting to watch them walk out of a dark spot with flushed faces and kiss-pink lips. He shouldn’t feel like a teenager who was caught doing something naughty. As they start to walk back along the sidewalk, flickering shadows beneath streetlights, Davey slips his hand into Jack’s. Their fingers twine together easily, without flare or dramatics, but it feels so warm and soft (though Jack’s hands are calloused from working) that Davey thinks this may be the best thing he’s done all night.

Jack looks at him with a smile that is just as warm as his hand, just as warm as his chest. “Does this mean you’ll share the bed with me now?”

Rolling his eyes, Davey doesn’t want to mention that he’s been wanting to share the bed with Jack since they got taken in. Or that, every night he’s on the couch, he secretly wishes Jack will sneak out and join him in the middle of the night. He wants to know what Jack looks like when he’s sleeping—is he peaceful? Furrowed? Does he dream or is he a still sleeper?—and how he looks waking up, how he looks in the morning after a night of just holding one another close. Davey would like to revel in the warmth, sink into the feeling of protection and safety that he hasn’t felt in four years. Wants to know that, when he closes his eyes, someone is still there, and they will still be there when he opens them.

Instead of tearing out his heart and handing it to Jack in a silent beg of love and acceptance, Davey squeezes Jack's hand and says, “Just because we kissed doesn’t mean I’m kicking Crutchie out of bed.”

“He can go sleep with Albert and the other guys,” Jack argues, eyeing the front of Medda’s café. They’re close now, and the date will be over soon. Davey doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“They’ve got enough guys in that bed.”

“I’ve got enough guys in my bed too, but you ain’t one of ‘em, and that’s a problem.”

Davey laughs loudly, caught off guard. They stop in front of the café, stuck in the moment with neither wanting to end it. The night was nice and comfortable, easy-going and filled with a dozen kisses Davey never thought he’d get. People aren’t in the habit of kissing him.

Silence surrounds them. Davey isn’t sure if he should say anything, or if he should pull Jack back in for yet another kiss where he knows he won’t want to pull away. Or maybe he can just hold Jack underneath the streetlights and pretend like he doesn’t have a brother to take care of or school to stress over or rent to pay without living in the damn house. The thought cuts through his serenity—his house. He’s not even there—hasn’t been there for a couple of weeks now, which isn’t worrying for his neighbours nor his tenant, but it’s worrying for him. Even if the rent is cheap, it's still money coming out of his pocket when it isn’t worth it.

“Hey,” says Jack, reaching out a hand to press the tips of his fingers softly against the middle of Davey’s chest. “This ain’t…it ain’t just a kiss to you, is it? Cuz it ain’t for me.”

The way he says it, so unsure of himself but confident in his wants, makes Davey’s insides melt. It’s not often he’s gotten to see something so…small from such a large spoken man. It gives Davey the boost he needs to take a step forward and place his hand over Jack’s, pressing it flat onto his chest. His other hand flits along Jack’s waist, unsure of where it wants to sit.

“Well,” Davey starts, lips curling in a teasing smile. “It’s more than just _one_ kiss.”

“Shuddup—you know what I mean.” Jack is smiling, too, but his eyes are glassy with anxiety and his fingers jump from where they sit beneath Davey’s palm.

Davey nods and squeeze’s Jack’s hand. “I wasn’t expecting you, Jack. I saw you, and…” He looks away, not used to spilling out his secrets for all to hear. Even now, Davey isn’t sure he’s comfortable in telling Jack just how enamoured he really is. “You’re hard to resist. The way you are with Les, the way you care for your boys, how you give me free things at the café.”

His tone edges on teasing, close to a tune that Jack has never heard. Laughing softly, Jack rolls his eyes and says, “Is that what this is? A long con for free food?”

“Not to mention that baseball bat you gave me.”

“Which saved your life.”

A sharp intake of breath nearly punctures a hole in Davey’s lungs. “Which saved my life. _You_ saved my life, Jack. This is much more than a kiss to me. More than I’m willing to admit.”

Beneath his hand, Jack curls his fingers until they slide between Davey’s. It’s…weird, to be holding onto the back of someone’s hand, but Davey takes with it the warmth and strangeness he has come to expect from Jack. Sneaking his other arm around Davey’s shoulders, Jack presses them together once more. Basking in each other's presence, Davey can feel how Jack buzzes from within.

Tilting his head to the side, Jack looks at Davey with shimmering eyes, and Davey has never had someone so beautiful look at him like that. It makes his heart do a couple of backflips, then some front flips just for kicks.

“It’s a lot more than a kiss for me, too, Davey,” says Jack with a surety Davey wishes he carried. “And I’ll admit, it’s probably more than I think.”

As they make their way inside, Davey can’t help but notice how strange and fitting this evening has been. A mastermind plan (which, in the morning, Davey will understand is less than mastermind) set up by their closest friends, ending in a kiss by the docks and many more as they slowly made their way back home. How strange it had been for Davey to sit across from Jack in a fancy restaurant with moderately good food and to _not_ know if he was allowed to notice how good Jack looked in dim lighting. Or how strange it felt to not have this be strange at all. Kissing and falling into each other’s embrace has been natural, for the most part—like it had always been a part of his life.

Though, Davey understands that…relationships have never been his strong suit. Not many people ever found him to be cute or charming or worthy of their time. His only friend had been Race, and that had fallen apart by Davey’s sudden disappearance. If for a moment, when he was younger, Davey had thought that maybe Race—rather, Anthony—would be his lost chance at love. They had…moments, once upon a time, where they were too close for friends and too scared to do anything about it. But it had been fleeting, always was with Race and his rushing mind,

But with Jack, this doesn’t feel fleeting. It has only been one night, yes, but his mother used to tell Davey of how she met their father. How, in two dates, she had known that it would be the last love she ever felt. How she knew then and there that she would marry that man and start a family, never to be apart and to forever be caught up in the winding rollercoaster that is love. And Davey had always been envious of his mother, sometimes of his sister and her countless admirers, but today he finally understands. He knows they would both be so happy to see him caught up in Jack’s arms under the streetlights, smiling and giggling, heart fluttering like it wants to fly away.

Upstairs, Les sits on the couch, tucked under Race’s arm. The TV plays softly, flickering colours over the pairs faces as they stare at the screen, bored out of their minds. Nothing good is ever on TV after 8 pm. When the door clicks open, Les whips his head around to stare as Davey and Jack stumble inside, fingers locked and standing much closer than any normal pair of friends would dare to stand.

Race’s head cranes over Les’s, eyeing the pairs tangled fingers. He smirks and, if he could, he would text Katherine right now to tell her that the masterplan had worked.

“Boys,” says Race, coy as ever. “How’s the night?”

Immediately, Davey can feel his cheeks heating up as the full force of the night hit him. Standing inside the flat, it all feels a little too real. And Les—how could he not have thought about Les? What is he going to think about this? Davey knows he’s not a homophobic kid, only mean when he needs to be, but still. This is an addition to their very small, very hurt and very specific family. It could be insulting for Davey to want to add Jack to it.

Jack squeezes his hand. “The night was good, Race. Great, even. Thanks for ditchin’.”

Shrugging, Race says, “Thought I’d be intrudin’.”

“That’s a big word,” says Davey automatically, but he isn’t watching Race’s face, he’s watching Les’s.

Les, who stares at their hands with narrowed eyes. Les, who still sits beneath Race’s arm, protected and secure. The flat is silent for a moment, save for Race’s dying protest of knowing big words, and Davey has half a mind to run and lock himself in Jack’s room. Then, Les slips off the couch and makes his way towards the couple, feet soft as they slide against the floor. Stopping right in front of Davey, Les reaches out and take’s Davey’s free hand. He looks to their twined hands, then to Jack and Davey’s, eyes still narrowed.

“When Susie asked me on a date,” says Les. “This is how she did it.” He looks at Jack, and suddenly he looks a lot older. “Did you ask out my brother?”

Jack’s laugh is startled out of him. “Uh, well, kid…sure. Yes, I asked your brother on a date. And he said yes.”

Davey and Jack share a look, something with a silent conversation that both elevates and soothes Davey’s internal panic.

Les’s face splits in a wide smile, and he drops Davey’s hand. “Awesome! Jack’s my brother now, that’s so cool! You know, I always thought you’d be my brother one day. You gave us free food, and that’s the sign of a good man.”

With the way Les says it, with so much certainty that Davey can’t help but laugh. He lets go of Jack’s hand and wraps his little brother in a big hug. It hadn’t occurred to Davey just how scared he would be to start a relationship that didn’t have Les’s approval. Well—he wouldn’t go on with the relationship if Les didn’t like the guy. It was a promise Davey had made a long time ago.

Dropping a fat kiss on the top of Les’s head, Davey leans down to whisper in his ear, “We’ll be good brothers to you, Les.”

Smiling from ear to ear, Les answers in his own whisper, perhaps a tad dramatic, “I know.”

Race jumps off the couch and turns off the TV. He looks at Jack, who can’t stop smiling or fidgeting, then down to Davey and Les, who have never collectively looked so happy. He finds himself smiling, too. Can’t help it when the rest of the house is so damn happy.

“Well,” says Race. “You know, Crutchie’s out at his girlfriend's tonight. Bed’s free for the two of ya…or the three of ya, I guess. Whatever’s your pick.”

“Three,” Davey says quickly, and it almost scares him how fast he answered. “Three of us. Thank you, Race.”

“Hey, I’m an angel, what can I say?”

The bedtime routine is easy. Everyone has fallen into their steps by now, except there is a lot more brushing of fingers and hands sliding across lower backs than there was before. Davey can’t say he minds it. And watching Les jump into bed with Jack crawling in behind, it’s a picture Davey would love to paint. He takes his time getting into bed, casting sly glances over his shoulder to catch the quick glimpses of Jack and Les in bed, comfortable and talking amongst themselves.

For the first time in a long time, Davey can happily picture a family. And if his heart both breaks and mends that night, no one can blame him. Or, if he has to fight against a fresh wave of tears when he hears Les laugh after a stupid joke from Jack, then he won’t mention that to anyone.

By the time he crawls into bed, Les is yawning and turning towards him, ready to be cuddled as he falls asleep. Davey is quick to throw his arm around Les and hold him close. But now, he allows his fingers to creep to Jack’s waist and weakly tug him closer.

Jack laughs softly as he shuffles closer and throws his own arm over top of the boys. They cage Les in, protecting him from any threats that dare to make him uncomfortable, and it settles Davey’s constantly running mind to know that there are now two of them to protect the kid. Jack’s fingers slide beneath the hem of Davey’s shirt and press softly against his back, running small circles around the skin. The smile on his face, so soft and so peaceful, suggests he’s been wanting to do that for a while.

Les is out like a light, which isn’t surprising. He stayed up late waiting for them to come home. But Jack is quick to follow, eyes fluttering as he forces them to stay pinned on Davey’s face.

“Go to bed,” Davey orders kindly, soft and hushed in the darkness. “You’re tired.”

“But then I can’t see you’re sleeping face,” Jack argues petulantly. “I wanna see it.”

“You’ll have other chances, you loser. Just close your eyes.”

“You ain’t got any sympathy for my cause.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Evil.” Jack does as told, letting his eyes slip close as he shuffles around in bed to get comfortable. His lips hold the ghost of a smile. “You’re evil.”

Davey brushes his fingers upwards until they rest on the curve of Jack’s jaw, soft against the warm skin and sharp bone. “Not my fault.”

Jack hums, grunts then relaxes his body until the weight of his arm against Davey’s waist is like a weighted blanket. Davey takes this quiet moment to take it all in. Having both of the most important people in his life tucked under the covers next to him, close enough for him to wrap in his arms and keep near him is something he forgot could feel so good. Nothing bad can happen to him tonight, nor any night he has them close by. They’ll be together, linked at the elbows and ready to fight off any kind of monsters that go bump in the night.

If Jack wanted to see his sleeping face, Davey understands why, because Jack’s is the picture of perfection. Slack and peaceful, eyelids fluttering and eyelashes jumping along his cheeks, Jack has never looked so gentle. So thoughtless and without the stress of working eight hours a day or worrying about his boys. If allowed, Davey would stare at Jack all night. He would memorize every part of Jack’s face, every mole and cut of his bones, every flush of his cheeks and every bump in his skin. He would memorize it over and over again each night and so, on those cold nights when he won’t have Jack at his side and under his covers, he can paint the picture against his eyelids. Never again will he be without Jack’s loving face.

Closing his eyes, Davey let’s sleep wash over him, comforted by the warmth of his fingers against Jack’s skin and the soft beating of Les’s heart against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say pure fluff? Because I think I did.
> 
> Hi! Hello! How are we all feeling this fine...upload time? I listened to Little Mix's new album while writing this entire chapter, and let me tell you, it was a really good boost. ALSO, I just finished watching Hannibal on Netflix, and holy shit is that show ever good. Disgusting, but amazing.
> 
> Anyway, about this chapter. Fluff! Pure fluff because I felt like delving into Davey's mind about feelings and such. Besides, I feel like the boys deserve an entire chapter of just being happy with each other. Because you know...stuff's gotta get a little bad later so that it can be better. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I'll be sure to catch you guys in the next upload (probs in a week or so). Bye, love you all and I appreciate all the support !!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never?

Race isn’t making breakfast in the morning; he’s just sitting on the kitchen floor with a piece of bread stuck between his teeth. When Davey rounds the corner, feet shuffling against the floor, he nearly trips over Race’s sprawled legs.

“Watch where you’re goin’, dickhead,” says Race with enough sleep-deprived lull to make it sound kind.

Confused and not awake enough for this, Davey lightly kicks Race in the side. “What’re you doing, Anthony?”

It’s been a long time since Race has heard that name, and since Davey has ever said it. It shocked him to know that he had never met another Anthony after meeting Race, but he’s pretty okay with that. They both blink and wait out the strange silence, and Davey opens his mouth before he can drown in it.

“Sorry, Race, I didn’t—” He blabbers, hands pressed to his neck to feel his pulse pounding against the pads of his fingers.

“Nah, nah, shuddup.” Race waves at him until he stops talking, then adds, “You’s the only one who can get away with that. Just don’t let Albert hear ya, or he’ll never let me live it down.”

Davey steps over Race and fully enters the kitchen, eyeing the toaster and the open bag of bread. He thinks about if the others know Davey’s real name, or if they ever call him by it. Has he always been ‘Race’, or did Jack give him that name? “His name is Albert; he can’t judge you.”

Race’s laugh is way too loud for an early Sunday morning, but Davey can’t find it within himself to care. Last night was too good to ruin his mood, and he has never slept so well in his entire life. Knowing that his boys were safe and within arms reach settled Davey in a way he truly wasn’t expecting. It seems to happen, though, that you find what you need in the unknown.

“When I tell Al you made fun of his name,” says Race, finally comping down on his, now cold, bread. “He’ll beat you up, and it ain’t gonna be my fault.”

Continuing in his effort to make some breakfast for himself, Davey and Race chat idly about…nothing, really. Stupid topics like how birds learned they could fly, or how they learned they could hop around on those twigs they call legs. Or how elephants are so scary yet so kind. Bread is often a topic in the kitchen—who made it first? Who cut it first? Who was the first person to ever eat bread? Also, eggs—who cracked open something a chicken shit out and decided to eat the ugly yellow stuff inside? Additional question, were they, perhaps, mentally unstable?

Not once does Race get up from the floor. Even as Davey forces the fridge door open against the pressure of his feet and the solid mass of his legs, Race only laughs and pushes harder against the door.

“Ha ha,” he says, waving his cold piece of bread at Davey. “Get fucked.”

“You’re a fool if you think I won’t dump this entire carton of milk on you.”

Race rushes to pull his legs to his chest, not willing to test Davey’s threats. He knows damn well how good Davey is at exacting revenge, and how he barely hesitates before pulling the trigger on some stupid prank Race would set up in school. Davey would never get into any trouble because he has mastered his ‘ _Hi I’m a perfectly innocent Jewish boy with money troubles, how could I ever do something as bad as a high school prank?’_ act, and Race would be the one escorted to the principal's office. Sometimes, he still has nightmares about that guilty grin Davey used to have plastered on his face. Race shivers. It’s not a beautiful sight.

Halfway into breakfast, while nobody else has woken up or even moved to take a piss before falling back into their bed, Race tilts his head and levels Davey with a look.

“Wanna go to Medda’s?” Race asks, fingers tapping on his legs. Davey pauses, toast hanging from his mouth. He points down at the floor, confused as to why Race wants to go downstairs. “No, you idiot, I meant to the theatre. It’s Sunday, and I know you ain’t doin’ shit today. So, d’ya wanna go dance?”

“I can’t dance,” says Davey, though it’s not a real answer and they both know it’s a yes. “Last time was just a fluke.”

Somewhere outside of their little breakfast nook, a bedroom door opens and closes. Feet shuffle against the floor, too tired to be picked up properly. It’s still too damn early to be up on a Sunday—a day which was basically invented to be a do-nothing, lounge around the house in your underwear day.

Race rolls his eyes. “So I’ll teach ya how t’dance.”

From the dining table, Jack rubs the back of his neck and asks, “What’re we doin’?”

Race tilts his head back to stick his tongue out at Jack as he shuffles his way towards the kitchen, half-asleep. “You ain’t invited. It’s a me an’ Daves day.”

Jack’s eyes slide right past Race and land on Davey’s face. Immediately, he straightens his posture and smiles, hands outstretched and fingers waggling. Skeptical, but not being able to resist a smile of his own, Davey hooks his fingers with Jack’s and pulls him close.

“But I wanna come,” says Jack, in a voice Davey has never heard before and only ever wants to hear when Race isn’t around to make fun of them. It’s very…mushy. “It’s my first Davey day.”

Davey laughs and rolls his eyes, letting his arms hang loosely around Jack’s waist. “Davey day?”

“Mhm. Davey day. _My_ Davey day, so Race can go fuck off. I don’t care.”

“Well,” says Davey with a pointed look at Race, which is shot right back at him. “Sorry to say, but Race is going to teach me how to dance. You can have a Davey day tomorrow.”

“You work a shit tone tomorrow. You work a shit tone all week.” Jack looks up with a frown, then snaps his gaze over to Race, who watches the pair with a faint mix of disgust and awe. “And he already knows how to dance, Race. He’s a dancing machine—could beat you any time.”

Both Davey and Race pull disgusted, repelled faces, immediately protesting the incredible lie Jack spewed. The kitchen fills with their loud sounds of protest. Davey even goes as far as untangling himself from Jack. Together, Davey and Race make a great ‘How-Dare-You-Say-Such-Things’ team, and Jack is almost impressed. Mostly, he frowns at the space between him and Davey, not wanting any space between them now that it’s allowed for him to cling to Davey whenever and wherever he wants.

“Look,” says Davey, stifling his laughter. He awkwardly punches Jack in the arm, unsure of their romantic exploits in the daylight. “Race and I are going to go down to Medda’s”—when Jack points down at his feet, Davey shakes his head with a slight smile—“and he’s going to teach me how to dance. It’ll be…like old times.”

“But—”

“And when I get back,” continues Davey, “we can watch a movie or something.”

Race holds up his hand, not meaning for Davey to take it and pull him up from the floor, but that works just as fine. He says, “Me an’ the boys’ll even leave for the night. Les, too. Boys night out to the club.”

“He’s 9,” says Jack at the same time Davey says, “You’re not taking my baby brother to a club, Anthony.”

Jack mouths the word _‘Anthony’_ with a grin but doesn’t do anything else. He knows well enough when to keep his mouth shut when it comes to Race and his old life. At last, Jack relents and agrees to the movie night in with Davey. Before the boys can head out, though, Jack grabs Davey by the neck of his shirt and pulls him in for a near-bruising kiss. Maybe a promise for later tonight, but Jack won’t push anything. He’s more than happy to just sit under some blankets and watch a shitty movie. When he pulls away, he’s smug at how Davey’s eyelids flutter open and his lips stay open in a silent gasp.

“Disgusting,” is Race’s input, once again putting his mood-breaking skills to use. “C’mon Davey, I wanna see you fall on your ass.”

~….~

Medda’s theatre is nice when it’s quiet and empty. Rows of folded seats span out in semi-circles, heavy lights hanging high above him, ready to fill with life at any moment. The backgrounds Jack has painted all line up backstage, all of them as beautiful as the next. Stepping onto the stage is like stepping into a warm hug from his mother—all-encompassing and achingly familiar. With Race beside him, it really does feel like he’s back in high school and ready to practice for their first show.

Race claps him on the shoulder and smiles. “It’s a nice place, ain’t it? Medda’s done a tone of work to keep it so she stays intact for us.”

“Is that right?” says Davey as he slides off his jacket. “She doesn’t put on shows anymore?”

“Every couple months she puts on one of her oldies—proves to the theatre geeks she’s still got it.”

“Does she?”

“Depends on the night.” Which is a fair statement.

Race beckons Davey over to the middle of the stage and gets right to positioning Davey’s body into what he thinks is an easy pose, though nothing about it feels natural or comfortable. Despite how strange it feels, Davey can already feel himself relaxing into it. His body recognizes the fact that he’s about to dance (really, _truly_ dance because the last time didn’t count) for the first time in four-ish years, but it’s taking a minute to get all geared up to go.

Looking down at himself and watching his feet slide apart as Race guides him into nearly-fluid motions, Davey feels a little stupid. Scratch that—a lot stupid. He should be studying right now or picking up an extra shift at one of his jobs. Or he should be helping Les with homework or helping Les stay up to date with all the school he’s been missing. Davey knows he should be doing something that aids his future and keeps it going, not something that only stalls all the hard work.

His brain starts to churn alongside his stomach at the thought of how many days he has been sitting in Jack and Race’s home, useless and losing money with every breath he takes. Losing precious time to study and better his grades, losing money right out of his pocket as his and Les’s home goes unused but paid for. Losing the strict schedule, he has set for himself ever since the responsibility of raising both himself and his kid brother landed on his shoulders.

It reminds Davey of why he didn’t want to get involved with Jack in the first place—distractions. But he can’t say he doesn’t like the distraction, or that he didn’t wake up the happiest he has ever felt that morning when he set eyes on Jack and Les cuddled up in bed. And when Jack had come to the kitchen later that morning, clingy and with a disastrous bedhead, Davey pictured greeting that stupidly handsome and adorable face every morning. It scares him just as much as it warms his heart.

A flick on his forehead grabs his attention. Race has stopped guiding his long limbs and his arms crossed over his chest.

“You ain’t payin’ attention,” Race accuses with no heat. “You’ve got your stress face on.”

“What?” Davey immediately pulls his face into something more neutral. “I don’t have a stress face.”

“Yes, you do. It looks like this.” Race twists his face into something from—lips downturned, eyebrows knit in the middle of his face, eyes narrowing so much they’re barely visible. “And it’s ugly, so stop doin’ it and tell me what you’re thinkin’ ‘bout.”

Davey sighs and mulls it over, finally deciding that no, he doesn’t need to bother Race with this stuff. “It’s nothing Race, can we just get—”

“You thinkin’ ‘bout Jack?”

It’s close enough and not entirely wrong, so Davey nods his head. “Yes, I’m thinking about Jack.”

Race purses his lips, then says, “I’m happy y’all got together. I hated watchin’ you guys staring at each other with those googly eyes. ‘sides, you seem happy. Jack seems happy. That’s all that matters.”

“Are you getting mushy with me, Race?” Fighting off a smile is easier than it used to be, but Davey isn’t trying awfully hard to keep it at bay.

Pushing him harder than necessary, Race rolls his eyes with a scoff. “Get fucked, Davey, I ain’t mushy. I’m just grateful I don’t have t’watch you two pine anymore.”

Laughing, Davey shakes his head and drops the subject. He shuffles himself back into the position Race was putting him in and waits for the next set of directions. His mind had partially cleared of its stressful subjects, but they still sit in the back of his head, waiting for the middle of the night where they can spring with no interruptions.

But Race doesn’t move, not immediately. He looks Davey over with a critical eye before reaching out to press his fingers against Davey’s wrist and pushing it into position. They pass a couple minutes like that, silent in the theatre except for when Race gives mild instructions.

When Davey readies himself to run through the routine again, Race says, “If you’re stressin’ ‘bout Jack, you don’t have to. He’s…passionate when it comes to relationships, and if you just try your best, he will love you for as long as you let him. Relax with him, Daves. It’ll be okay.”

Davey doesn’t mean to get emotional, but with Race being so sincere and staring at him like he’s something worth protecting, it’s hard to keep the tears from pooling on his lashes. Even as Race protests the sudden rush of emotions— _“hey, don’t get fuckin’ sappy with me, Daves. I’ll take it all back. Stop it. I said—dude, c’mon.”—_ Davey falls forward and crushes Race in a big hug. Pressing his temple against the side of Race’s head, Davey keeps the tears at bay, but it doesn’t stop his heart from crying. He needed those words more than he would have thought.

“I missed you,” says Davey, and he means it more than he has ever meant anything. “Thank you, Race.”

Patting his friends back, Race pretends to be strange within the hug, though the idea of hugging Davey like they used to back when things were complicated but filled with raw emotion reminds him of a god time long forgotten. A time he never realized he missed until Davey came back into his life. “I missed you, too, Daves. I’m glad I’ve got you back.”

~….~

Jack took Les out to the park a little after Davey and Race left for Medda’s theatre. Together, the two boys sat at the dinner table and ate buttered toast for breakfast. They got to watch the rest of the boys hobble out of their rooms and laugh as Albert, half-asleep, nearly trips over his own feet on his way into the kitchen. Everyone greets Les much more warmly than they do Jack, but he’s grown used to their rock-hard love. It’s been a long time since any of them have gotten the soft kind of love you read about in books and see on TV. Jack is happy to count himself out of that list now.

Being at the park helps Jack to clear his mind. He sits on an old bench and watches as Les speeds around the playground, playing tag with a couple kids he befriended. Jack thinks he could watch Les run for hours and not get bored of seeing pure joy light up his features. If Davey’ll let him, he could watch it forever. But it’s only day one of being an item and, though Jack is known to rush into his relationship like they were life or death, he ought to take it slow with Davey. Sweet, sad Davey with a lapful of stress and heartbreak.

Smiling to himself, Jack lets himself think about Davey. Davey in bed last night, wrapped up in blankets with his hair a mess against the pillow. Davey with his soft smiles he keeps for Les and the gentle hands he places on everyone’s shoulders. Davey and his warm eyes in the morning and his arms around Jack’s waist. Davey and his everything. Jack wants to know all the little things about Davey—how he does his hair in the morning; how long he takes in the shower; how he swears and who he swears in front of; what he looks like when he trips over his own feet and how he looks when Jack catches him. Anything and everything, Jack will happily take it.

“Jack! Jack!” Les comes running over to the bench, arms waving above his head to catch Jack’s attention—as if he didn’t have it the moment he called Jack’s name.

“What’s up, buddy?” Jack asks, trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. His first thought is that Les might be hurt, but then that can’t be true because there are no tears and he didn’t see Les fall on the playground.

Les points behind him, to a small group of kids who stand, sheepish, near the end of the slide. “My friends said they’re getting ice cream. Can we go with them? They say it’s the best ice cream ever!”

Jack has to laugh, but he ruffles Les’s hair as he stands from the bench. “Yeah, sure. I’d like to try the best ice cream ever.”

Happy as ever, Les quickly hugs Jack’s waist before running over to his new friends to tell them the good news.

Looking around the park, Jack spots the parents mingling a couple steps away. One of them catches his eye and smiles, which Jack takes as his invitation. Sliding into the group, Jack sticks out his hand for the moms and dads to shake, turning his charm up a little. If he’s not here for the ice cream, he’s here to schmooze.

“I’m Jack,” he introduces himself. “Nice to meet y’all.”

One of the moms hides a slight grimace at his language, but the others take it in stride.

A dad with the bushiest mustache Jack has ever seen points over his shoulder to the gaggle of kids who have started to walk towards the ice cream parlour. Jack and the parents move with them. “That new one’s yours? Les?”

Jack smiles at the idea of Les being seen as his kid, but he corrects the guy anyway. “Nah, that’s my boyfriends’ brother. I’m lookin’ after ‘im for the day.”

It sounds good: _boyfriend._ Sounds like it should’ve always been that way. _Hi, I’m Jack, and this is my boyfriend, Davey. Hi, I’m Davey’s boyfriend. Oh, haven’t you heard? We’re boyfriends._

One of the moms asks about Davey, and Jack is more than happy to delve into that topic. He talks their ears off about what Davey does, and they all comment on how stressed Davey must be all the time and how lucky he is to have Jack there to look after Les. He talks about how they just went on their first date last night, and how things are still new and fresh between them, yet it feels natural to be together. One of the other dads mentions how his marriage started like that way back in the day, and all the other parents quickly jump into the own retellings of their love stories.

Linda has the best one, but Jack won’t admit that simply because her name is Linda, and he has a grudge.

The parents are nice, if not a little bit boring. At the ice cream parlour, the kids go crazy trying to decide what they want to have. Jack decides to hang back and let everyone do their thing before getting his own. Maybe he’ll steal some of Les’s, too, just for fun.

Linda, in her platform flip-flops and beige capris, stands next to Jack with her hands clasped in front of her stomach.

“Must be hard,” she says idly, “Not being able to see your boyfriend that much.”

Jack blinks. It wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. “Uh…yeah, but we’ll make it work. We live together, so that’s a plus.”

Linda hums, nods her head as if she understands. Then she says, “My husband and I used to be like that. He’d work his nine-to-five job and I’d be juggling my two jobs, going to school part-time just to say I did it.”

“Yeah?” Jack prompts, swallowing and being surprised at how dry his throat feels all of a sudden. “How’d that go?”

“Stressed us out so much we couldn’t stand to be in the same room together,” she laughs with a fond shake of her head. “He’d be so tired from his job that all he’d want to do is sleep. I’d be tired, too, but I at least tried to get some romance into our days. He wouldn’t have it, and then I wouldn’t have it when he wanted it. Lots of fighting in that time—which is normal, of course, but it isn’t fun.” She looks over at Jack for the first time since she started talking, and nearly laughs in his face. “Oh, don’t be so scared. I didn’t mean it to sound so scary, I promise. But when you don’t have time together, you don’t have time to be a couple, and then it thins until someone either breaks or you learn to fight through it.”

Jack hates this conversation because now he’s thinking about it. It didn’t bother him before that Davey works so much and throws himself head-first into his studies—he finds it endearing. But it doesn’t sound fun to sleep away their time together, or to fight all the time. He wants to love Davey and softly and as kindly as he can. He knows fights are bound to happen, it isn’t healthy if there ain’t any conflict, but…Linda is really starting to scare him.

Les bounces over with a brilliant smile and two ice cream cones. He hands a chocolate cone to Jack, who takes it with a shaky smile. “You looked invested in your talk with Linda, so I bought you an ice cream.”

“Invested,” Linda croons with one of those sappy, old lady smiles. “Such a big word.”

Les blinks at Linda like she’s an idiot, then says, matter-of-factly, “I’m 9. I know how to talk.”

Linda’s face is priceless, and Jack wishes he paid enough attention to laugh at her, but Jack can’t get his mind away from Davey’s busy schedule and their impending doom.

The day passes quickly after that. Les plays with his new friends for another hour before he gets tired and whines about going home. Jack thanks the parents for bringing him along and gives Linda a curt goodbye. He hopes he never has to see her again. The walk home is quick, with Jack stopping halfway through to give Les a piggy-back ride the rest of the way.

Back at Medda’s café, Specs, Crutchie, and Albert are manning the Sunday breeze.

When Jack opens the door upstairs, Les still latched onto his back, he isn’t expecting Davey and Race to be back already. He drops Les from his back and can’t find it within himself to look away from Davey’s face—Davey’s _beautiful_ face which he wants to see every day for as long as he can. And he knows that tomorrow will come, and Davey will be super busy, but at least he’ll have tonight to stare at him.

Race takes his cue immediately, slipping off the couch and grabbing Les’s hand to drag him back out the door before he has time to take off his shoes. There are mild protests from Les and loose excuses from Race as the door closes behind them, then nothing but the sound of Jack’s own breathing.

Davey sits up properly on the couch and smiles, something soft and warm like he keeps for Les. It makes Jack’s stomach do funny things. His hair is slightly messy from laying on the couch, perfectly tousled and Jack wants to run his fingers through it and mess it up even more.

“Hey,” says Davey. His eyes track Jack’s movements as he takes off his shoes and makes his way to the couch. “How was your day?”

Sitting down next to Davey on the couch, thigh-to-thigh, Jack throws his arm around Davey’s shoulder and brings him in close, trying not to think about Linda and her horrible fashion and her sharp words. “It was fun. Les got me ice cream and made some new friends at the park.”

Davey sighs, content, and leans in even closer to Jack. He wraps his arms loosely around Jack’s waist, their new favourite place to rest, and lowers his head down on Jack’s shoulder. “Mm. Did you make any friends?”

Jack scoffs. “No. Adult’s suck. Parents suck—they’re so boring. I never want to be that boring.”

Together, the pair lean back into the couch, shuffling around until they’re both comfortable. It ends up being Jack on his back, head against the armrest, with Davey plastered on his chest. They wrap their arms around one another and settle into the comfort of being held. It feels right, to end a day like this—together from head-to-toe. Jack doesn’t want to think about Linda, but he can’t help it. How many more days will end like this?

Jack grabs for the TV remote as Davey says, “Yeah, no kidding. Count me out, too. We can stay young forever.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jack turns on the TV, then casts a glance down at Davey. His breath catches in his throat and it takes all of Jack’s strength not to combust right then and there. Davey’s cheek is smooshed against his chest, hair spread and ruffled against his shirt, eyes wide and warm as they look up at Jack through his lashes. Everything about Davey is picture perfect and so lovable that Jack has no choice but to lean down—God forgive his neck pain in the morning—and press a dozen kisses to Davey’s forehead.

Jack wants to draw Davey. His fingers itch for a pencil and his sketchbook, but that would mean moving, and that’s the last thing Jack wants to do. He settles for taking a mental picture of the moment, staring at Davey much too long for it to be cool, but Davey doesn’t say anything, just stares right back at him.

“You’re beautiful,” Jack blurts.

Immediately, Davey’s face turns red, and he rushes to hide his flaming cheeks in Jack’s chest. It doesn’t work, but Jack thinks it’s cute. “Shut up,” Davey grumbles, pressing his nose deeper into Jack’s chest until it hurt them both, just for fun. “Just pick a movie already.”

“Oh, I dunno,” drawls Jack, flicking his eyes over to the TV. It rests on the Netflix home screen. “I don’t think I want to watch a movie with someone who won’t compliment their boyfriend back. Just doesn’t seem fair.”

Davey rolls his eyes but doesn’t immediately say anything. He revels in the word _boyfriend_ , lets it simmer over his heart and cover it in a thin strip of armour. It sounds nice, so out in the open, and Davey can’t find it in himself to think about his stresses. “You’re beautiful, too, Jack,” says Davey with a softness he didn’t know he possessed. “A little too beautiful to be real, but that’s not your fault. Can my _boyfriend_ pick a movie now?”

Jack doesn’t try to hide his smile. He leans down again to press a big, wet kiss to Davey’s forehead. When that’s over, Davey lifts himself up to press a real kiss to Jack’s lips. Jack sighs into it, loving the softness of it all. Nothing has ever felt better, and Jack knows nothing will ever feel better than this.

Davey pulls back first and flops back down against Jack’s chest. “Pick a movie,” he says.

And so Jack turns his attention back to the TV, intent on picking a good movie but not keen on watching it. If he so happens to slip down the couch a little over the hour and sneak more kisses in, stealing all the attention away from the movie, then so be it. It’s his own secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here's the new chapter that is totally not late or written while I'm supposed to be sleeping :) It's fine tho because I like this chapter, it's pretty cute.
> 
> Also hi, has anyone noticed that I love Race and Davey? I love them so much it's not funny. (If Ravey were popular on AO3, I'd write a fic or two, but y'know. Also pls don't get me started on Sprace, I'll combust lol).
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this fluffy/stressful mess of relationship building and potential destroying >:)


	13. Chapter 13

Jack wakes up thinking about Davey. It’s nothing new, Jack’s been thinking about Davey since he first saw him, but today isn’t…great things. He lets his eyes on Davey’s peaceful face, slack with sleep. It’s a beautiful sight—the messy hair, the soft lashes resting against his cheek, the slight curve of a smile on his lips as he dreams. And Davey is so rarely at peace, so rarely not thinking about everything all the time, that it’s nice to relish in the soft, quiet, gentle mornings Jack gets so little of.

But Jack is also thinking about Linda, as much as he wishes he wasn’t. After what an amazing night last night was, what with the cuddling and the movie they both weren’t paying attention to, Jack was expecting to enjoy his quiet morning with Davey…and only Davey? For a split second, he wonders where Les is, then loses track of that thought as Davey shifts closer in his sleep.

Davey presses his face into the crook of Jack’s neck, arms moving to wrap around Jack’s waist and keep him close. His grip is loose and lazy, murmurs drowsy and oh-so quiet. Jack can just feel the brush of lips against his neck—it’s enough to make him shiver. He wraps his own arms around Davey’s body, pulling him in as close as possible. Pressing his nose into Davey’s hair, Jack takes a long, deep breath in. Davey smells of peaches and old books, and just a little bit like Jack. It’s intoxicating.

Running his fingers through Davey’s hair, Jack wonders how often he’ll get this. He thinks back to Linda’s story about all the fighting and the lack of romance between her and her husband when they were like this. All the fights he might have with Davey, all the long nights without each other and stretches of mornings without good morning kisses. How many coffees will they miss drinking together? Or what about all the shows and projects that Les will have, that maybe Davey won’t be there for? What about all the moments in life they’ll miss because Davey’s off at work every day of the week? And school, and his other work, and his responsibilities to his brother.

Jack knows Les will come first. He gets it. But…work? Is that all Davey should do with his life?

“Mm.” Davey shifts against Jack, eyelids fluttering open. He looks up at Jack through his lashes and— _God_ , doesn’t that do something to Jack. “G’morning.”

Pulling back just enough to fully take in Davey’s morning beauty, Jack smiles and runs his thumb against Davey’s cheek. “Good mornin’, sunshine. Sleep well?”

“Mhm. Yeah.” Rolling onto his back, Davey yawns and stretches across the mattress. His hand digs around in the sheets, automatically searching for Les. When he finds the rest of the bed empty, he sits up, back straight and eyes wide. “Where’s Les?”

Jack sits up, too, panicked only because Davey’s never looked so afraid. Even when the burglary happened. “Hey, I dunno Davey, but I’m sure Race has got it all—”

From outside the room, the loud sound of a door slamming open and closed breaks into the once peaceful bedroom. Race’s voice and heavy footsteps follow after it, but there’s another set of footsteps with it—faster, quiet, but with a lot more pep. Jack’s bedroom door flies open, and Les runs through it, crashing onto the bed with a wide smile and shaking limbs.

“Hey, Les, wait!” Race calls after him, bursting into the room seconds later. “Y’don’t know what they’re—oh. You ain’t naked. Good. I’m going back to sleep; you can deal with that thing.” He turns and leaves the room.

Jumping on the mattress, feet wobbling and hitting both boys in every body part imaginable, Les refuses to come down from an apparent sugar high.

“Morning Dave!” Les shouts, falling onto his butt. He fits perfectly in the gap between Jack and Davey, arms wrapping around his knees and pulling them tight to his chest. “Hey, guess what? Guess what Dave.”

Davey looks to Jack first, confused, then turns his full attention back to Les. “Um…I don’t know, Les. What?”

Les’s smile is uncontainable. “I’m going back to school!”

Flopping back onto the bed, Jack lets out a dramatic sigh and pulls the covers over his head. All that stress for nothing. “Jeez, kid. I ain’t ever heard of someone bein’ excited to go back to school.”

Les dives on top of Jack, flattening him into the mattress. “I miss my friends! I miss proving to everyone that I’m the smartest in the class! I miss school! I want to go back.” He turns his gaze to Davey, who isn’t paying attention anymore. Instead, he’s focusing on the alarm clock. “Can I go back to school? Please?”

Davey doesn’t bother giving Les a straight answer right away. He jumps out of bed and nearly trips over his feet on his way around the room, searching for clothes to put on. He nods his head and grabs the first thing he can find—a pair of jeans and Jack’s hoodie. Pulling them on without thinking, Davey turns back to Les and scoops him up off the bed, saying, “Yes, you can go back to school. We’re going to be late—we have to leave now, okay? Jack?”

Peeking from beneath the covers, Jack says, “What? You can’t stay one more minute? Five more minutes?”

Davey shakes his head and ushers Les out of the room. He steps back inside to press a quick kiss to Jack’s forehead, then follows his brother out of the room. “Sorry, Jack. Uh, it’s a busy day today, but I’ll see you before I head off to work, okay?”

Jack barely has time to say goodbye—Davey’s already gone. He can barely hear Davey and Les’s struggle to put their shoes on before the front door opens and closes. He groans, pulling the bedsheets over his head once more. All he wanted was a slow, quiet morning with Davey, was that too much to ask? Either way, Jack has things to do today, too, and he better get started before he’s late to open the café.

~…~

It’s been a slow day. Jack lounges behind the counter, sketching Davey in a new page of his book. It’s of what he looked like this morning—peaceful and sweet. It’s one of Jack’s new favourite images, and the drawing will probably be put upon his wall to stare at when Davey’s not with him. With no customers in the café and Crutchie pretending to study in one of the booths, Jack is free to let himself get lost in the movement of his pencil and the rhythmic scratch of led against paper.

Even as he sketches, Jack finds himself drifting back into his thoughts. Mostly, it’s about Davey, which isn’t a surprise to him anymore, but it’s mostly about his jobs. And where he lives. Jack’s been thinking of asking Davey to move in with him—full time. Officially. It’s nice this way, getting to fall asleep with Davey and wake up in his arms, and Jack’s starting to think he wants it to be a permanent thing. And maybe, just maybe, Jack is also wondering about asking Davey to quit one of his jobs. He knows that it’s not…what Davey wants, probably, but if he agrees to live with Jack, then he won’t need to work two jobs in order to stay afloat.

Together, Jack and Davey can keep Les comfortable and happy. Isn’t that what they all want?

A chime from the front door rips Jack from his sketchpad. Snapping his head up, Jack’s eyes meet Davey’s as he enters the café. Immediately, he smiles, closing his sketchbook and hiding it from sight. They might be together now, but it’s still embarrassing to have half a sketchbook filled with drawings of your very new—though incredibly good looking—boyfriend.

“Afternoon, boys,” Jack greets with a smile. When Davey’s close enough, he pulls the boy over the counter for a kiss. It’s short and sweet, but any kiss from Davey is a good one. “Good day at school?”

Davey shrugs as he pulls away. “Same as usual. Les has got a dozen stories to tell you after work, though, which he’s excited about.”

From behind the counter, Les nods his head enthusiastically. “Jack, you should’ve been there! It was so cool! Even Sally talked to me today.”

“Ah, that’s all ‘cause you’re a natural charmer, kid,” says Jack with a wink and a smile. He knew Les had it in him to get the girls.

Les doesn’t waste time in releasing Crutchie from his painful attempts at studying, which were really just power naps and doodling on napkins. Immediately, they start to pull out all the napkins from the dispenser on the table, ready to doodle and draw on every single one of them.

Laughing at the pair, Davey shakes his head and leans back against the counter. “Did you have a good day?” he asks in such a soft, gentle way that makes Jack want to combust. How long has it been since someone’s been so warm with him?

Jack shrugs. “Borin’. Nobody came in today, which is weird for a Monday. But hey, easy money, right?”

“Easy money?” Davey laughs, checking his phone for the time. He immediately sours—more than thirty minutes feels like a lot, but they both know it’s not much time at all. “I’d like that.”

“Speakin’ of things you’d like,” says Jack as he tries to ignore just how nervous he is. What if Davey says no? What if he actually hates Jack? What if this leads to their breakup? But he’s not supposed to think like that, so he tries to push past it. “What about—and just hear me out on this—you an’ Les moved in with me?”

Davey freezes like a computer going through a malfunction. “What?”

“Real-time,” says Jack. “Like, move in with me and don’t move out. Unless you’d want to! Obviously. I ain’t gonna lock you in my house. I mean, I’d hope you ain’t gonna leave, but that’s not really the point. The point is: move in with me?”

“Jack…I—it’s not. Move-in? Permanently?”

“Mhm. Also—”

“I have a home,” Davey plows on, not looking Jack in the eyes. He looks lost, trapped within his mind as he rolls over every single pro and con of moving in together. “I pay rent there—which I’d be losing money without reason if I moved in. That’s not…do you know how much that hurts Les’s funding? Saving for University is hard enough as it is for me, but saving for Les, too?”

Jack doesn’t mean to say it right now—it’s probably a horrible time to bring it up—but he can’t stop himself. The words are already out of his mouth. “I also think you should quit your job.”

If looks could kill, Jack would be dead. Brutally murdered in a cafe. Killed by his boyfriend for his stupid mouth and big dreams. Davey takes a small step back from the counter, eyebrows narrowed as the weight of Jack’s words sink into his skin. Quit his job? Davey’s never thought of it, not recently. It’s not…that can’t happen.

“Quit my jobs?” Davey asks, voice calm and low. Jack doesn’t like it, not one bit. “Why would I do that, Jack?”

“Not both of ‘em,” Jack rushes to explain. “Just one of ‘em. Give you enough free time to be with me, to be with Les. To just—to just be a kid, Davey.”

“I don’t have the time or the funds to keep me and Les afloat if I quit one of my jobs,” Davey argues. “Even without one job, I’d still be studying for school. This is just the life I’m living in order to survive. I thought you understood that.”

Jack sighs, feeling himself start to get irritated. He shouldn’t be getting irritated, but it’s difficult not to when Davey’s looking at him like he’s just some bug on the wall. “I can help you, Davey. That’s—I want to help you. If you live with me an’ the boys, you’d pay less rent and have more money to spend on Les.”

“Jack—”

“I’m your boyfriend, Davey,” says Jack.

“Of three days.”

Scoffing, Jack adds with a sliver of heat, “That shouldn’t matter. I’m your _boyfriend_. I want to help you. If that means dippin’ into my funds so that Les can get an education, then—”

“You’re not his father, Jack!” Davey snaps, catching the attention of both Les and Crutchie. They stare wide-eyed at the explosion, unsure if they should be here for this. Listening in on a couple’s argument feels like an invasion of privacy. “You shouldn’t be ‘dipping into your funds’ for a kid that isn’t yours.”

“Yeah?” And Jack knows he should be shutting his mouth, but Davey’s dismissal of him is hitting him right in the heart. “Well, you ain’t his father either, Davey. You’re just some kid who got the shit end of a deal.”

The café falls dead silent. Nobody moves, too scared that their head will get ripped off by Davey. Shoulders set, mouth twisted into a poisonous frown, and eyes hardened beyond belief, Davey doesn’t look like himself anymore. Jack wanted to promise to himself that he’d never make Davey mad, never make him feel like they’ve got to argue, and yet here they are.

“The shit end of a deal?” Davey repeats, and this time his voice sends a shiver down Jack’s spine. “Is that what you’re calling my brother?”

Jack fumbles to make things better. “Davey, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

Holding up his hands to silence Jack, Davey shakes his head. He takes a long, deep breath to calm himself, but his eyes remain cold and distant. Behind him, Les sinks into the booth, wanting to hide from this fight.

“Don’t even fucking try, Jack.” Davey’s never sworn in front of Jack before. It’s terrifying, makes the room feel colder. “I don’t want to hear it. It’s fine if you don’t like having a kid around, Jack, but you don’t have to be an ass about it. Could’ve told me before you kissed me, then I wouldn’t have had to hear that shit come out of your mouth.”

“Davey—”

“I don’t have time for this,” Davey cuts in. He starts to walk away, back towards the door, putting as much distance between himself and Jack as possible.

Before he knows it, Davey is out the door with the soft chime of the bell, leaving Jack alone in a frigid café with two pairs of eyes stuck on him, weighing him down until he sinks into the ground. Crutchie with his disappointed gaze, and Les with his sad, sad eyes. Jack looks at them, hopeless.

What a massive fuck up.

~….~

Davey doesn’t have the patience to deal with people right now. He’d rather be curled up under a blanket watching some of his comfort movies and making sure Les is alright. Hearing all of that can’t have been good for the kid.

Plowing his way through his first shift was hard enough but having to sit inside a restaurant for the late hours, when no one comes in on a Monday night, is going to be torture. _Has_ been torture, actually. Not even Katherine can lift his spirits the way she usually does, which is probably what tipped her off to his bad mood. That and him storming into work and slamming his locker shut before his shift started. Or maybe it was his permanent frown and his reddened eyes from crying between shifts.

“Dave?” She asks hesitantly in the middle of their shift. With no one around, not even their manager or other coworkers who hang out in the back when no one’s here, they’re able to sit down and relax. “You okay?”

Davey shrugs. _No_ is the real answer, but he’s not as angry as he was before, so maybe… _sure_ is the proper answer. “I…I swore in front of Les today.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, I swore at Jack, Les just happened to be there.”

Katherine’s tone lowers. “Oh. Did you guys fight?”

Davey nods. He feels like a high schooler having their first fight with their very first boyfriend. Everything feels like a pile of breaks being dropped onto him, crushing him with every breath. He feels like he’s overreacting, but every time he thinks of what Jack had said, he feels sick to his stomach.

Placing a hand on Davey’s shoulder, Katherine offers all of her comfort and support. She knows how much it sucks to fight with your partner, especially when it’s the first one. “Tell me what happened?”

It doesn’t take much for Davey to spill everything. It’s, really, a small fight. But how could Jack say those things? And say them with such…conviction. Maybe Davey’s just too tired to be peaceful and kind today, or maybe Jack hadn’t had a good day as he said and just needed a small little push over the edge.

“What a bitch move,” says Katherine with a small laugh. She shakes her head, trying to keep a little bit of a level head. “I can’t believe he said that.”

“Right?” Davey shakes his head, too. It wasn’t how he expected his day to go. “It’s just so stupid. Obviously, I didn’t _choose_ to be the one who raises Les, but he’s not—he’s not the shitty end of a deal. That’s my _brother_ , and I love him, and I’ll do anything for him. I thought Jack understood that.”

Katherine hums. “I think he does understand that Davey. I honestly do. He wouldn’t have gotten into a relationship with you if he didn’t.”

Davey knows that—he really, really does. But where does Jack get off saying those things? The anger is a mere thrumming in the pit of his stomach, a tingle in the pads of his fingers. Not a fire like it had been 7 hours ago. He’s had enough time to calm down, enough time to think it over, though he hasn’t gotten much farther than that. No excuses come to mind for their argument, no warning signs or apologies that would feel right. And, besides, is Davey the one who needs to apologize?

“Listen,” says Katherine in a voice that tells Davey he won’t be talking for a while. “What he said was shitty. When you get home, you’re going to make him apologize to you like he’s never apologized before. Alright? But Davey…you have to be honest with me here. It’s not like you were an angel. I mean, come on—pulling the dad card?”

Making to defend himself, Davey immediately shuts down his efforts when Katherine gives him a pointed look.

She continues. “The dad card is kind of a low blow. He seems like a nice guy who just wants to make sure you and Les are okay and taken care of. And, Davey, if I’m going to be honest, I don’t think that’s the only thing your mad about. Or the only person you’re mad at.”

Davey can’t look her in the eyes. It’s no surprise that she hit the nail on the head. She’s always been astute and annoyingly correct about everything.

“You’ve been the sole provider for four years,” says Katherine softly, eyes flashing with all the images of Davey sacrificing his life for Les’s happiness. “Suddenly this man comes along and offers you time and love and partnership. It’s scary. I know it terrifies you to be taken care of. But this shouldn’t be something you run away from, okay?”

Running his hands through his hair, Davey says, “I don’t…you’re not making this any easier, Kath.”

“I know. Just promise me you won’t run away from this. I haven’t seen you this happy in—I’m gonna say ever. Punch me if I’m wrong.”

He doesn’t punch her. In their short, but meaningful, friendship, Davey hasn’t allowed himself to be happy like this. Once upon a time, Davey can remember being this happy all the time. He almost forgot what it felt like. And then came Jack and his crew with smiles and jokes and love and suddenly Davey knows what it’s like to feel warmth spread through him at the barest of glances and the softest of touches. It’s not something he’d like to let go of.

Davey nods and looks Katherine in the eyes. “I promise.”

~….~

The walk home feels long. Davey didn’t think to bring enough money for the bus ride home, which he kicks himself for as he speeds his way through darkened streets. He pretends to be on the phone most times, talking to himself about nothing in order to avoid the lingering strangers on the streets. Davey knows he’s generally safe outside past 12 am, but he doesn’t want to take the chance.

Seeing Medda’s café is like finding Oasis. Davey’s never been so happy to see it, to feel the warmth as he unlocks the door with the spare key hidden behind a potted plant. He’s glad Race had half a mind to tell him about it, even in passing. But Davey isn’t so excited to go up the stairs and see what awaits him. He’s sure Jack would be the kind of guy to wait up for him after an argument—to get it all over and done with before things can stew and fester and ruin any prospect of a good relationship. But Davey’s not sure he wants to do that just yet: have The Talk. He has to talk to himself first.

When Davey opens the door to the house, he isn’t expecting to find Jack asleep on the couch. Sprawled like a cat, Jack rests his chin on the armrest, closed eyes locked on the front door. No doubt waiting to see Davey come inside. There’s a twinge in his chest at the sight of someone caring for him still, caring after a fight where they both weren’t the best of people. It’s happened so often that people yell and then leave him behind.

Hope, Davey thinks it might be.

He makes to walk right by Jack, but the urge to reassure both his boyfriend and himself that they’re good, they’ll _be_ good, takes over him. Without thinking, Davey backtracks and presses a fleeting kiss to Jack’s forehead. Manifesting it to show up in Jack’s dreams and soothe any nightmares that might come for him.

Making his way to Jack’s bedroom, Davey stifles a yawn. It’s been a long night full of tears and inner turmoil, and he really, really needs to sleep. But he’s got another obstacle in his way: Race.

Laying on his bed, arm tucked under Les’s neck, Race watches him with tired eyes. He doesn’t bother to hide his yawning, instead making it loud and dramatic for Davey as he closes the door behind him.

“G’mornin’,” says Race with a slight grin.

Davey looks to the alarm clock: it’s 12:55. “Morning, Race.”

“Tough day?”

“Like you haven’t heard the story.”

Race shrugs. “Was just offerin’ you a chance to vent.”

Davey throws his work uniform next to the hamper then starts to change into his sleep clothes. “Katherine already got the weight of it. But thanks.”

“Figured.” Carefully, Race slips his arm out from beneath Les’s neck. He freezes when Les shuffles around and lets out a breath when he stays asleep. “Les hasn’t left the room since he came upstairs. Never seen him not want to be with Jack before.”

“I don’t blame him.” Crawling into bed, Davey settles himself on the other side of Les. It feels a little weird to be getting into bed with Race, but he’s been to enough sleepovers with him that it’s not as weird as it should be. “But it’s fine. We’re all going to be just peachy.”

“Yeah?” There’s a slight laugh in Race’s voice.

“Yeah.” Davey looks over at him and is surprised to see such sincerity in his eyes. “What’s the look for?”

Race shrugs, settling himself back into bed. Comfortable, he turns his attention back to Davey. “Fight’s suck. Jack’s a dick in the middle of one, and I know you ain’t no saint. But shit still sucks. But trust me, Daves—Jack ain’t lettin’ you walk away from this.”

Something blooms in the pit of Davey’s stomach. Maybe it’s hope, maybe it’s fear, or maybe it’s something he’ll never understand. It could be love. “I’d be mad if he did.”

“We’d all be mad.” A pause. “You sure you’s good?”

Davey nods and pulls the covers over his shoulder. His eyelids droop immediately, the intimate feeling of exhaustion seeping through his bones and sinking him deep into the mattress. “I’m fine, Race. Honest. Now go to bed you worrywart.”

Tucking himself deeper beneath the covers, Race grumbles, “I ain’t a fuckin’ worrywart. Last time I try to help ya out, Daves. I can promise you that.”

Despite feeling so heavy only a couple minutes earlier, Davey goes to sleep feeling as light as a feather. Maybe moving it wouldn’t be the worst idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been more than a week, but I've finally updated!!! woo!!! enjoy this...not so happy chapter lol.   
> Sorry it's been a hot minute since I've updated, school's almost over and I've got a tone of math to try to understand (which is a haha funny joke bcuz fuck math) and essays to write and exams to prepare for. STRESS STRESS STRESS.
> 
> Anyway, I'm sure you've noticed that I know have a set end to this story: chapter 18! Scary, but also exciting I think. So it's over soon, but I'm hoping you guys will like it how it all ends up.
> 
> As always, I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter!   
> PS: I have a tumblr if y'all wanna go check it out, it's pretty new and I only like one thing on it rn, but I'm going to write smaller drabbles and such on there, so if you guys have any wants or wishes, just ask me and I'll write one for you!  
>  My tumblr name is: daveyismycomfortnewsie  
> love y'all :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh...hello again, readers. It's a late, late, late update, but it's finally here. And it's short and potentially sweet. Who knows. I surely don't.

Jack wakes up with a sore neck. Sunlight streams in through the windows, warming his feet and prolonging the fuzzy feeling of his dreams. As far as Jack can remember, they were pleasant dreams—Davey was in them, smiling and laughing and looking all cute in an over-sized sweater and some bedhead. Jack had stared for as long as he could, which was his whole dream. At least, that’s what Jack remembers. But he knows something else had happened within his conscious, something a little more important than staring at Davey in awe of how cute he is. Though, Jack’s one to argue that there’s nothing more important than that.

Sitting up, he cracks his neck and stifles a sigh. Waking up on Tuesdays are better than waking up on Monday’s. That’s a fact. Except, as he stretches his arms high above his head, he realizes that maybe it was better waking up yesterday. Yesterday he was tucked into a soft bed with Davey in his arms. Today he woke up alone on his old couch with nothing but the sunlight to bid him good morning.

All at once, everything hits him. The fight, what he said, what Davey said, how Les had looked at him after Davey had stormed out.

“Fuck,” Jack groans, dropping his head into his hands. Everything’s a mess. He doesn’t even know if Davey came back from work last night. For all Jack knows, he could’ve slept over at that Pulitzer girl's house just to stay away from him for one more night. It’s not like Jack would blame him.

Down the hall, a door opens. The creak carries through the dark hall, followed by the quick, tired shuffling of socked feet.

Jack takes his head from his hands and stares, waiting. It’s early—too early for Les to be up, though he’s fairly sure Race had stayed with Les last night, so it could be him who is awake. But Jack’s never seen Race awake before seven-thirty. It’s still only around six in the morning. And Jack tries not to get his hopes up, wants to keep his heartbeat even and healthy, his palms from getting cold with nervous sweat, and for his eyes to keep it easy and not play tricks on him. It’s not…Davey’s not standing in the threshold of the living room, arms crossed over his chest, hair a mess and looking still half-asleep.

His first thought? _Wow._ His second thought? _It’s too early for this talk._

“Good morning Jack,” says Davey, and his voice is just low enough for it to be considered gravelly. It does a lot of things to Jack’s insides.

“Morning’ sweetheart.” His voice catches on the nickname, unsure of himself. He’s pretty sure that their argument isn’t detrimental—it shouldn’t ruin something that feels so precious—but he’s not going to take any chances. Are nicknames still cool? Or is that just another button of Davey’s that Jack can push? “How’re you doin’?”

Davey laughs a little, and it rips the nerves out from beneath Jack’s feet like a magic trick. “As good as I can be after sharing a bed with Race.”

“He’s the worst sleeping buddy,” says Jack with a slight smile. “Don’t know how Albert does it.”

“He’s probably worse.”

Jack laughs into his fingers, trying to keep it quiet so he doesn’t wake the others. Except Specs and Crutchie ought to be up soon anyways. Medda’s café should be open in around an hour, maybe more. Someone has to get up and start the day. From beneath his lashes, he catches a glimpse of Davey’s chuckle. It’s a nice enough sight that, for a moment, Jack forgets their problems. It’s just them, together on an early Tuesday morning, sharing the sunlight and a small laugh. How’s Jack supposed to think of the bad things when there’s nothing but goodness in front of him?

When the laughter dies, it’s…Jack doesn’t want to say that it’s awkward, but the air simmers with slight tension.

“Listen,” says Davey, and Jack nearly melts into the couch. Thank God he’s not the one to start this conversation. “I’m not…I’m mad about what you said, but not about what happened. Does that make sense?”

Jack nods. “Yeah, it does. I—”

Holding up a hand, Davey shakes his head. “Don’t…I’m not ready for the apologies yet. It’s way too early for this, okay?”

It’s like a weight has been lifted off Jack’s shoulders. Except it’s only been placed on his back instead, but it still feels better. They’ll get through this. One day, Jack might even forget what he said about Les and he’ll be able to stop feeling guilty about it. That day is not today.

“Agreed,” says Jack. “Are we…is there time to—” he breaks off when he realizes he doesn’t have anything to say other than _I’m sorry, let’s fix this._ But that’s supposed to be saved for later. “Did you have a nice shift?”

When Davey smiles, it’s soft and small, warm in a way Jack has missed. It’s stupid, really, to feel so far away from someone who is standing steps away. Especially when their fight wasn’t—maybe Jack’s being overdramatic. Couples fight all the time, he knows this. It’s normal to fight, but Jack feels like someone’s ripped him in half and thrown him in the sea. Salt licks at his wounds, sinking deep into his raw skin and begging him to just feel the pain. He’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to feel like this, but maybe first fights just hurt the worst. Will the next one feel a little more normal?

“It was boring,” Davey answers as he starts to move towards the kitchen. He has a schedule to keep up with. “I, uh…told Katherine about everything.”

Of course. Jack’s not surprised; Katherine seems like Davey’s go-to for anything. “Am I ever gonna meet this _mysterious_ Pulitzer I’ve heard so much about?”

Davey laughs to himself. “Sometime. I think you’d—no, I think she’d rip you to shreds, actually. You would probably like her.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Very. And rich.”

Jack lifts his hands to his head and mimes an explosion, adding the sound effect to go with it. From the kitchen, Davey laughs softly, keeping his voice low enough not to disturb the others. And Jack likes to think that things will be fine despite how bad it hurts. They _have_ to be okay.

~….~

It’s later in the day when Jack finally sees Les. He’s in the middle of his shift, and the café is decently full with a small line at the counter. Jack is putting the cash in the register when, out of his peripheral, he notices Les standing on the stairs looking out at the crowd. It’s been a little weird between them since the fight, and Jack wasn’t prepared for the tightness of his chest at the sight of the kid.

The crowd thins while the pressure builds in Jack’s chest. Should he say something? Les is avoiding looking at him, instead focusing on the railing and how the paint is chipping. The energy is strange, raw, hesitant in a way it's never been. Every passing second eats away at them both, and Jack hates the fact that he’s the adult in this situation and that he’s the one who has to make the first move. Not to mention it’s his apology to give.

When there are no more customers lining up at his till he motions for Crutchie to take his spot before he approaches Les on the stairs.

“Hey, kid,” says Jack, not sure if he should meet Les’s eyes or not. What’s the proper protocol for apologizing to a kid that isn’t yours? “Uh, how’s it goin’?”

Les makes the decision for him: he closes his eyes. Squeezing them tightly to ensure they stay shut, Les scrunches his nose instead of giving an answer. Jack almost wants to laugh, but would that ruin everything? He wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction, though he supposes he shouldn’t have expected a teary-eyed Les either. It didn’t seem like something he would do. Maybe it’s the idea of him being a mini-Davey that makes the tears seem impossible. Davey, crying? Jack hopes he never has to see it. Unless they were, like, happy tears.

“Cool, cool. I get it,” Jack says, because he does. He wouldn’t want to look at himself, either. “I just wanted to say sorry for what I said the other day. You ain’t…you ain’t a shit end of a deal, Les. I didn’t mean it like that. You’s a great kid an’ Davey’s lucky to have you.”

Les huffs. “We’re both lucky.”

“Yeah, you are.” If Jack thinks about it, which he doesn’t often, he knows he’d be screwed if he were in Les’s position. His parents are alive—not active in his life or anything, but they’re still breathing, and that’s got to count for something. They’re out in Santa Fe living the sweet life, and Jack is only mildly jealous. He used to be more jealous, but now he has Davey so, really, his parents are the ones who should be jealous. “And when I tell you I’m sorry, I mean it.”

Peeking through one eye, Les has the guts to pout at Jack. “You mean it?”

Jack nods solemnly. “I mean it.”

Both of Les’s eyes pop open. “You super mean it?”

It’s adorable, and Jack knows if the kid ever gave him the puppy dog eyes, he’d give him anything he wants. He says, “I super _duper_ mean it.”

Les’s smile is as bright as the sun, eyes scrunching up with pure joy. “Great! Cause you were _not_ nice and I hated it.”

Jack didn’t expect to feel so light. Les’s approval and happiness means a lot to him, yeah, but he didn’t think it meant _that_ much. It makes sense, honestly. If Davey’s important to him, then so is his kid brother. And God knows Davey’s important to him. He wouldn’t often feel so burdened by arguments with other lovers. It’s all just stupid words and bad tones and things that don’t matter in the long run. A quick fuck and some nice drinks and everything is okay again. But he can’t do that with Davey—not yet, at least. It’s weird to want to work out problems the way he does right now, but he’s not going to ignore those urges.

This relationship will be good. It’ll last. Jack promises that. But here comes the challenge: actually talking through his feelings with another person. Yikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the dead. Count on me to disappear for weeks and then come back with a short, filler chapter. 
> 
> I'm sorry!! I got wrapped up in exams and final projects for school, and then I got trapped in my depression which is always fun. So I lost all motivation to complete this story and instead read MCYT fanfiction and I only feel a little bad about it.
> 
> But I'm back! Hopefully to regular scheduling, every Sunday (ish), because my last exam is tomorrow and then I'll be free for an entire month. Woo!!


End file.
